I look out my window. No Sun. No rain. Just haziness. Like my brain. And all I want to think about is you. Yet I am a zombie. The way medicine can sucker punch you. Crawling out of the bed. Wanting to write. But my hands became a stranger to my phone. No one to talk to. I'm alone. And I ache of substance. Weak when there's no warm heart to call home. Not a breakup. You're just busy. And I don't have friends. So it's just me and these poetic thoughts these poetic schemes that need to breathe. Lovesick. But someone could be a cure for me. My family feels like a curse. But I smile anyway. Wanting the warmth of the sun. This rain that was my candy. Trying I'm a tryer. I don't stop till something stops me. Yet anger is a foreign object but I bleed pitch black. Every line she's reads. Her thoughts are me again and again. And hours don't exist. Seconds don't exist. The way it was just a lovesick hiatus. That made my pen a hurricane of bliss.