Numb

Sometimes when I get into the shower,
My feet are too cold to realize the water is hot.

Sometimes when I am in the kitchen,
My fingers are too numb to notice they are burning on the pot.

Sometimes when we’re on the phone,
My brain is too happy to yell at me to stop.

To stop thinking, to stop doing, to stop trying, to stop crying.

Sometimes when I’m in the shower,
The water scalds my feet.

Sometimes when I’m in the kitchen,
The stovetop heat attacks me.

Sometimes when we’re on the phone,
My brain wont think at all.

Think to breathe, think to eat, think to hurt, think to sleep, not until you tell me.

Sometimes I do not get in the shower,
Because I feel I don’t deserve to be clean.

Sometimes I will not cook in the kitchen,
Because I don’t deserve that therapy.

Sometimes I will not pick up the phone,
Because I need just my thoughts and me.

To contemplate love, to contemplate fear, to remind you you’re better off far from here.

To remind you that the water’s too hot,

That you left the stove on,

That your phone is ringing like my ears.


But my feet,
And my hands,
And my brain,
And my heart,
Have all been numb since I became yours.