But This Is Only In My Head, Of Course

“They don’t do it the way they used to,” I mutter to myself

I rip the bedsheets into uneven halves

Tearing each thread with everything I have left

But this is only in my head, of course

For I am too mild for anger

Yet too harsh for joy

I’m actually at the edge of my bed

And I don’t want to be the mess I always am

I still can’t get it right

I still can’t crack the code

I still don’t do it the way I used to

I never could, anyways

But this is only in my head, darling

Of course it is.

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