my voice is alone and quivery and talks to no one. nothing can hear me and i'm kind of ok with that because i'm so used to being hushed by now. whispers in the dark remind me that you just aren't here, and you probably will never be. scared isn't the right word to use, and i don't even want it to be. smoke on my fingertips and a gurgling stomach beneath me make it all feel worse. i used to fear insanity, but if it meant i could hallucinate the smell of your collarbone underneath my nose, then i think i would welcome it with open arms. desperate urgings. so many, somehow. i want to disappoint everybody because i want to be whole again.