Living a life tinged red
While binging on the leftovers from last week’s hellos
Almost like it never matters,
Almost like I never cared.
Flowers shed petals
Only to have them swept up
Onto piles of litter on the floor,
Pink petals among brown paper bags and silver cellophane.
Does not belong.
Like living a double life
I split myself into seven.
But that’s not double at all, you say
And of course it’s not.
It’s the feeling of being broken
Without remembering any part of being
Put back together.