Freezer Burn Goodbye

My feet hurt, the cold from the freezers

still in my bones. Cardboard dust sticks to my jeans,

a faint smell of stale bread and cleaning schemes.

My thumb, numb from stacking peas,

hovered over the phone, no ease.

'It's not working out.' Two lines of flat text,

a ghost of feeling, no reason to vex.

Just the white screen, reflecting my face,

drained and tired, in this empty place.

I tasted the brine of cold sweat and tears,

mixed with the scent of a hundred slow years

in the dairy aisle, fluorescent light's gleam.

This isn't a breakup, it's a waking dream.

No real words spoken, just pixels, a blur.

My jacket's still cold, a faint, lonely purr

from the distant compressors. My heart, a flat line.

I just wanted to sleep. Is that so out of line?