Logorrhea

Everything is either tremendous
success or devastating
tragedy. My mom sends an article

to my school email about a woman
who fell in love with her breast
cancer. Tim deems me the most

optimistic schizo you will ever meet
but I wish he had said sexy instead
of optimistic. I am learning how

to make my words crash into
the table, scatter all of the little
spoons. I finally understand

how to navigate the grocery store.
Everyone cheers. I turn to the wet
and empty passenger seat. Yes, I was

thinking about you. Yes, I’m still bleeding.