I hear the phone call--

I hear the phone call.

A message left, water-logged.

I re-read the sent message,

feel the anticipation

of a non-reply.

I see her face, disgusted,

and am embarrassed,

but will call again

until I undo what I've done.

I avoid music,

shutting it all off,

if it is happy or sad.

I get cold in the mornings

and too hot come nights.

I am losing sleep

and so I begin to drink,

the old, rough habit.

Spilling my guts

over all these things I've done,

I am a martyr.

It is sad, sick, and tired,

silly and embarrassing.

I will forget what time it is,

crawl to the floor,

drag myself to the bathroom.

When I brush my teeth,

I will gag myself

and vomit in the sink.