NO SIGNAL FOUND [RE-WRITING]

sick

i've always thought of myself as sick
in the head, the way my heart has an
irregular jump and all the other
ways that make you think - sick

biting my nails and all the skin surrounding
taking pills, plural, on the daily
the therapist i pretend i don't need to see anymore, all the fevers to accompany stress

starving but convincing myself it's all in my head, if someone repeats the same thing so many times, it must be true, right? abide by my side i coincide

tug at the hair on your head, pull at the thread
on your bed, rub at transparent scars
on your skin because my hands don't know
how to stay still, i shake and i flake

joking with people who hardly know me but
know that part - drop hints and arrows pointing at all the things wrong with me. did you think i was kidding when i said i wish i was dead?