A quick trip to the clinic if you can fake a temperature. Is it just my imagination or are you no colder than you were before? Even depression’s not depressing anymore. Even disconnection can’t connect us anymore. “Turned on by thermometers?” to quote the nurse who’s quoting a movie. Call the clinic, I need a worse nurse. It would take a hearse to move me. I’m sure you’re shedding great fake lakes of saline sympathy. A colored contact for every emotion, for any occasion, for every situation. These plastic molded seats had to be cast from someone’s perfect ass. Leaving the rest of us to squirm uncomfortably. Died of pneumonia that I got on the walk to get my flu shot. Buried in you perfect skin, like a catheter. You did all that chemotherapy just so you could keep hanging out with me. I didn’t have the heart to dump you after that. Found naked in the noose now. Found naked in the new snow. They touch your skin, still insisting that you don’t feel cold.