Backwards

I guess, beloved, that it is the time of the month in which I write
to you
My lack of words has made it hard to form the simplest of sentences and
home is what I long for
It's that feeling in which I cannot explain, that feeling in which I wish
not to share with others
Seeing everyone and nothing all in an abundance of darkness is all my eyes have seen
lately
Sometimes I go to the market and take photographs in my mind and when
I'm all alone in my bed at night I think
of all the produce on display and the many different kinds of bubble gum aside the cash registers
Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating while asleep but dreaming is the only way to breathe
On many occasions I have wanted to die but here I lay thinking of the produce instead