I've begun to spot patterns
more clearly,
the brick homes that
set around this suburbia
have begun to resemble
the lovely spots of a
giraffe perhaps
because I have
become so used to ogling
their grace, I couldn't be sure,
but I've begun to spot patterns on me,
bold, odd, rectangular blocks
honey-ed to my thin skin:
People. They are all around me.
Yet all I see are those blocks
thatching to me,
I think they're in search of a
shorter neck.
I breathe myself into a sickening isolation. I am not alone. I don't have to be. People are caring. And yet I am. And it is me. I am the problem and there are solutions. My mind is a pill. I've hit my up and slip time of year. I binge continuously through words and then eventually my mind numbs and then I'll have nothing left to say. Bear with me. Please.