All we do is talk, talk , talk this gnawing scrap of metal lodged in the inner thing of my throbbing brain when you get home from work I'll be distracting myself with more ways to not think of you when you get home from work I'll be stuffing my face promising tomorrow to show restraint when you get home from work I will hear your voice, over the phone briefly scratching the insides of my throat before I'm moving, moving, moving again, losing my gravity to the wind suffocated in clouds and a pressure to be more than I think I am until my guilt-ridden skin cements to my bones I should believe it but I've stayed here too long and my feet won't stick