a prelude to insanity;
it slowly eats away at you
from the inside, tearing
down walls and wreaking havoc
on your psyche-

it is all of those daffodils
glaring yellow
unreachable,
and it is the sound of
an empty orchestra
in the middle of June  

it is the worms beneath
your stocking feet
and the sad birds
who haven't suffocated yet,

it is the wind chime
that sings for someone else
or the frequency
that carries the tune.

it is the sun, burning holes
in your clever retinas,
and all of those gracious porticoes
that you will never walk through.

it is the cats retching
in alleyways, and the ******
smiling across poorly lit
rooms, as they forget
to grow old.

it is all of the discarded books
with their broken spines,
it is smudged windows
and Neanderthal kisses.

it is the end of
something that was never
really yours to keep.

it is everything that you
wanted to love,
but couldn't
find the
time.