safflower seed

I think getting closer to the lightning and thunder will help even less than I imagine it will 

Which, I guess, is why I’m still on the ground (in the ground/in my bed)

instead of 25 feet in the air, sitting on the branch of a burned up tree 

that’s shaped like the dendrites in my anatomy textbook 

frustrated, crushingly sad, anxiously empty 

if I can barely stomach five years of feeling like this

how in the hell am I supposed to deal with a lifetime more? 

I miss the days when it didn’t hurt to be alive

can you tell how bad it’s gotten, just from my poetry?

or I guess the fact that I'm writing at all is some indication 

but I’m sliding further into that “pain turns into nothing special” part