Unbound

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