​Come Home

Bentley says you haven’t turned the TV on weeks. Is the news upsetting you? You haven’t played your music and you’ve barely cleaned. Bentley told me you left for a long time, you didn’t talk about it once you got back, he says. I told him not to worry about you and I’d check on you. You look exhausted, have you been taking anything? Your eyes are sunken in and so are your cheeks, come on, these cobwebs won’t clean themselves, let’s get up out of this chair. You co workers told me you haven’t been seen in weeks either, you just left work early one day and didn’t elaborate. Your phone is dead, I saw it on the counter next to the saline water. Come on, you have to help me help you, get up please. Bentley says he’s been worried sick about you, says he knows you’ve been triggered from being outside and something called “survivor’s guilt” really bothers you. He told me how your best friend now lives in a loony bin and the other is with that girl you used to love. You’ve had it rough? I’m so sorry about that but you have to get up. It doesn’t help sitting here motionless, eyes shut, lips blue, thigh full of puncture wounds? Please, you have to get up.