SO BECLOUDED

how are you today is what brian asks me as we smoke hand-rolled cigarettes cramped in my tiny apartment.

a window cracked ever-so-slightly allows for various sounds to enter the room, for them to be heard, like the chirps of elusive cardinals seen only by poets aware of enough to see them as they whiz by in a hurry.

we unintentionally eavesdrop on the chats of city workers as they dispose of maple branches and our insides are churning along to the rhythm of wood being put in between buzz saws and i think, for a moment, i hear someone at a close distance speaking a quiet eulogy for the living now being turned to dust.

but what he really wants to say is that he's noticed a slouch in my step,

seen a light go out that should have never gone out in the first place.

when he takes in a drag and asks how are you what brian really means is are you okay?

do you need to talk, and what do you need if not?

i tell him

i'm totally fine and please, don't worry,
absolutely no worries, i'm good and

it's totally alright.

then later on, the only sound the drip of drops which fall from the spout of the faucet echoes throughout my room like pin-drops falling in the acoustics of an awkward vintage sink and

i start crying lightly to myself laying in bed with all that i can ponder being the regret of wishing that i would have simply said

no, i'm not okay

i'm really not okay