When I look into the mirror
I see the fragments of all the people I used to be
I have written enough poems about this
But it never seems to escape my mind
I used to be obsessed with time
In love with passing days and ticking clocks
Treated each day like a chapter in a book
But now everything just blurs into one unending cycle of the same events again and again
I have no inspiration for art
I haven't touched the typewriter for months
I've forgotten the smell of incense
Books of poetry sit unread and uncared for
Someone needs to go back to this summer
And tell me to slow it down
Don't take all of this for granted
Don't move so fast
You're not burning out
You're burning up
Setting fire to your sanity and crying deep in the back of your skull
You won't get out of bed anymore
You sit in the dark in your car
Not wanting to go inside not wanting to face anyone else not wanting the cycle to make its next round

If I could talk to my younger self
I'd say don't lose sight of what is beautiful
Listen to Woody Guthrie odes to all smiling people
Think about Kerouac meditations under pine trees
Love each friend like Ginsberg would want you to
Take the wild Hunter S Thompson ride
Don't lose who you are
Because it will take some time to find yourself again