Does Not Compute

Good news:

I figured out
the trigger!

I think I kind of knew
all along,
but it was just too
to admit.

Like, I would find it really funny
if I didn’t spend the past six weeks
crashing through some terrible
thoughts and feelings and behaviors
that I haven’t experienced in
at least four years.

And if I told you the cause,
I’m not sure if you’d be
confused, or

I’m gonna go with confused.

So get this:
Had I fallen far enough—
and I was genuinely afraid I might—
you might have literally
killed me with kindness.

Because poor Erin’s little brain
cannot fathom why someone
so refreshingly normal,
so seemingly well-adjusted,
so objectively likable—
not to mention unbelievably
inspirational and successful—
would waste any time
on someone as
as her.




my days are spent
staring blankly at
screens and walls
and people and
pages, and with
my unseeing eyes
i start to wonder:

am i present?

my existence feels
detached from my
corporeal form. if
someone tried to
touch me, perhaps
their hand would
go right through.

my body does not
feel real or solid or
here. i’ve become
only my thoughts
and my inability to
feel anything at all.

although i know
that i am indeed
real and tangible,
my connection to
the universe feels
slight. this seems
like perhaps it is
a reverse phantom
sensation, in which,
despite my weight,
i am now a ghost.



Red Wine

would you be willing to trade your Malbec
and Rioja for a different red—
what was it? a Zinfandel?—
and split the bottle with me,
as I cry into a stump,
with all my clothes,
and without—
getting hurt.