you still sweep me off
my feet, but it's time
to shake away the
dust you left on me.

i wonder if our bones feel it differently
when we realize we aren't permanent,
and  that  eventually, we  have  to  die
j u s t  l i k e  e v e r y o n e   e l s e  

do they grow tired knowing they serve
such a finite purpose,  or do they grow
restless  to show their complete  worth?

(because even though in spirit we never
truly leave, our bones do  nothing more
than waste away quietly in the ground.)

or do they not feel the pain
at  all  until  it  is  too  late?

.
i want to carve
the ugly
out of my
bones
.

(things are heavy,
but i can be strong
for you)

i am drunk with
and drowning in
one thousand
infinities
.