That's beautiful...ironic, sad, and explorative. It reminded me of a poem I wrote when I lived in NY a few years ago and was in (what I can now see so obviously as) a mixed episode:

Knots in the neck
Carefree scrambles
Of tofu
Whimsical days
Harrowing nights
Spastic dances
101 ways to die
Conveniently
Why go there though?
Way too interesting
To see what the chemicals
Will throw our way
Opening tulips whisper
“We have the answer”
I incline an ear
Next to baby’s breath
“Look, no feet”
Oh yeah?
“Just beyond the candle
Dripping purple black
You’ll find a glass
Filled with your poison
The sun is setting
My little vampire
You worn yourself out yet?
No, didn’t think so
You must sleep child”

Distracted, I gaze out…
Look how they blow
The scraps of plastic
On penitentiary barbs
Almost mournful shreds
Spirits stretch toward skies
Held down by metal earth
Your body was never yours
They turn, looking at the hooks
Where they were caught
Now melting in waning light
Freezing in the dark,
Awaiting another chance
As I reach for the cold stem

(called it Barbs of the Beautiful Dead) My best poetry is always when in one sort of an episode or another. We lived in a loft in a converted factory in Brooklyn and there was a junkyard across the street with barbed wire above the cinder block wall. Since there was always trash on the ground and much of it was plastic, it'd get caught on the wire in the wind.

Not sure if my poetry needs a trigger mark, but I'll add it just in case.
Can I say again how happy I am that you're back and okay?