I worked again today with just two hours rest,
Stiff from sleeping on the couch with my shoes on-fully dressed,
Working till the other staff have gone home for the day,
Working till burst vesicles leave my eyes a dusky gray,

Returning home fills me with dread, I'm a pious anchorite,
And filled to brim with loneliness I trudge on through the night,
Nothing to distract me from the thought that you are gone,
Except the empty thoughts of well-wishers who urge me to move on,

Their thoughts are well-intended but they're selfish nonetheless,
It's not my happiness they want- they're avoiding their duress,
And when I reach down for my phone because I quickly think of you,
It rips me back to shreds because I can't accept we're through,

If there was value in the health I've lost or in the tears I've cried,
You'd think it were worth nothing with how they view my suicide,
As if it were some idle threat to draw upon their care,
As if their barren sympathies could patch up this great a tear.