I’m here again,
sitting in the living room,
lamplight yellow,
scratching places
unmentionable.
I would tell you to kiss my ass
if the game were less real.
I would tell you to eat worms
if the garden wears turned and planted.
I would tell you I love you
if you looked at me again. 
But you don’t look at me
and I fold in half,
paper doll holding hands with myself.