skin slips off of bone,
the slow dripping of
the very essence of life
leaving me, an endless
moment after moments
that sped by quicker
than my vision could capture

i want to know why
everything is painful now,
why i've forgotten
how to care for my bones
that ache like they have
had enough moving
for sixty lifetimes

it may be spring, and i
may be a chicken, but
connecting the two seems
impossible  

staring in the mirror i
dive into dark circular
pools and vow to leave
my vices on the crayon-
colored table in our
living room

i am so used to being
saved, but now i wear
the thorny crown befitting
the savior, and the
blood that trickles down
my lips tastes like warm,
sad failure