Let's Benefit From Miscommunication

My mother's agony as I was first stricken with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.)

You watch me curiously as my eyes scan the floor;
counting marble tiles like some kind of infinite checkerboard.
Your vacant eyes reveal the question your lips could never speak;
communication continues nonverbally: yes, you’re girl is gone.

I’ll sleep on the couch in your room tonight;
where useless rambling controls the awkward silence.
I’ll break your heart for the seventh time this month,
before the late-night medicine makes its inevitable visit.

Waking up the air is distant and uneasily stiff;
the mellow lamp light and the humming of the morning news.
You flip through the latest gossip magazines: minor escapism.
Living in glossy pages before facing the slow creep of reality.

You gently prepare breakfast; I bite my bottom lip.
My lip is blistered from constant contact with teeth.
Let’s begin another day, another notable test of will.
I’ll feign improvement: maybe your eyes will soften.