Empathy.

I have empathy.

You say you’re looking for empathy?

Oh, I’ve got just what you need.

And more.

Or less.

Is that what you want?

I can also totally not care if you’re into that.

In fact, I don’t care so much that I’ll ignore you. Will you fight for my attention?

If you don’t, I’m a piece of shit. Is that quirky? That I used shit in that sentence? Am I relatable? Are you sick of me yet?

I haven’t reached out to you in six days and five hours. Have you noticed my absence? Watch me look in the mirror a thousand times. Watch me pick apart my appearance, and then my consciousness for being so self-absorbed. And then get sucked into the vortex of self-absorbency.

Watch me google published studies about the most random or abstract concepts. Watch me pour over the topic as if my life depends on it.

Watch me perform for an invisible audience in my head.

Watch me change the way I talk to myself. Watch me pretend a little further in wake of the harrowing realization that there isn’t a real audience.

Watch me grow more lonely and desperate in my attempt to self-medicate.

Watch me grasp at straws that have broken the back of every camel I’ve ever burdened with all the baggage I’ve accumulated.

Did you like my metaphor? I wrote it just for you. The audience in my head. I’m still performing for you, you know.

It induces madness of the most confusing caliber. Christopher Nolan type shit. A movie you have to watch 25 times to understand that you’ll never understand it. But by that time you are in too deep to admit that you are lost.

You’re a pretender among people.

Or other pretenders?

I can’t tell. You all blend in with the background.

Or foreground.

Either way, you’re grounded.

And I can tell my feet aren’t planted like yours.

I’m uprooted

Head too busy being cloudy.

I’ve never stood firm enough to grow anything deep.

I don’t need them

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it but ME, did it make a sound? I ask only because I couldn’t say with certainty.

And I keep falling. I keep making contact with the cold hard ground. Over and over.

& as I tilt into the earth and absorb the full force of its impact, I cry. a continuous strained and violent throbbing in my neck leaves behind an overwhelming stinging to remind me of my guttural screams. Yet, face full of dirt, voice hoarse, covered in contusions and radiating pain, I wait for you to answer the question to which only I have the answer.

Because I don’t. I can’t.

Can I?

Listen to the same song on repeat. Thirtieth time’s the charm.

I like this song sometimes.

Unless you don’t.

I like it more when I’m alone.

I’m alone…

Check my phone.

Redirect my thoughts for the six-hundredth time.

Check again-just in case.

Text me.

See me.

Make me feel invincible.

I can do anything.

I CAN DO ANYTHING

But I can’t do anything.

Big talker.

Paraplegic.

Tell me- did I make a sound?

It’s just like me, not to brace for impact.

It’s just like me to pretend like I’m not tilting.

Ears ringing.

Did I make a sound?

If I did, I’m sorry.

Is that a good ending?