All feelings are out of date.
The year alone is new.
The aches are all very old.
The year alone is new.
The dreams are all outdated.
The year alone is new.
Every wish is out of date.
The year alone is new.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I'm free as the ocean,
brighter than the star,
calm as the earth,
and gentle as the wind,

but at times
I feel as if

I'm drowning in the deep
burning from the light
Buried in the dirt
and cold as the night

You are etched on my bones
Ingrained in my soul
Locked in my mind
Still residing in my heart-
I cannot wash you
From my skin.

When will I be free of you?
Do I want to be?

If I could blow him
out of my nose in a sneeze. Be taken
as the leaves in a breeze. If I
could bury this sickness

of sobs and heaves. Cool the fever
with a wipe of my sleeve. Melt his memory
like Fontina cheese. Ice it down
a few degrees. This rash is tighter

than my jeans. It’s spreading like
acne in teens. Splitting my sides at
the seams. If I could unplug this noisy
machine making me wriggle in high-

pitching screams. Stop it from hanging
over me like the eaves. If only I could. But I can't!
So, it breeds.

We don’t see the carrots to be cut,
We see the sharp knife that could cut us.

We don’t see the bridge,
We see the other side of the railings.

We don’t see painkillers,
We see medication we could drown ourselves in.

We don’t see the train,
We see the tracks we could lay on.

We don’t see the nice view,
We see the cliff's edge we could jump off.

Perfection is an infatuation that has gone too far.