ON THE EVENT OF YOUR MIDNIGHT TEXT

You’re depressed.
It’s chemical.
Take a pill to soak it up.
Sit with it like a friend.
Like a song, a siren
let it lull you into its inky darkness.

The truth?
He was an empty well.
You, an $8 doll on a shelf
out of your mind
bored of being
overlooked.

Stuck, perhaps
in a story
where the truth of love — 
the truth of you — 
depends
on the narrator.

And, at the end
of the long day
when the night rolled in
and honesty startled bright
you were
too much.