can not

I'm freezing in your house i'm a ghost and i'm drifting up the stairs treading very softly and chewing with my mouth closed. Because I should know better but like any apparition stewing with the malcontent of so many years spent playing a supporting role to an unjust protagonist this is hell and there is nothing else i'd thrown in my towel so long ago retired to the comfort of my corner but still, i'm here i'm wailing hardly audible, but sometimes overheard never frightening to you, but contemptible abhorrent ugly We walk to the asian food market down the stree and you ask me what I want to make for dinner as we trudge through the snow, my feet a little bit heavier than yours. I follow you and I stare manically into the oncoming headlights busses moving people nothing moving me I step in front, arms wide, shoulders open, anticipating a welcome embrace, head back, eyes closed the light gets brighter and I beam in anticipation of relief but i'm still on the sidewalk i'm still following you I weigh my options I suppose, one hundred little soldiers might infiltrate this vessel, and my insides might bubble up and pool on the floor (you'd be so mad) and reek- like spoiled milk on your parents' carpet- for ages as a putrid monument to your cruelty the cough syrup at the end of your bed helps some nights in sleep, I unclench my jaw and my breathing slows down and when I wake up the next day there's an instant in which I don't know where I am and the warmth emanating from your body is a comfort and not a threat