Behind My Walls

You can’t imagine
how I bite my cuticles
at home in the dark,
nibble chocolate in my closet,
nursing a chardonnay.

You couldn’t know
I collect rare crystals
and antique typewriters.

You might not notice
the creases in my face,
or how difficult it is for me
to talk about sex.

These days, all I can do
is write dark poems
in the journal at my bedside,
and slip holistic herbs
under my tongue.

Take me out of my misery.

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By Diana Raab. Published in The Stray Branch Spring/Summer 2026.