Today crawled like a spider on a web with
thin, pointed legs like needles
in my skin, administered by a bad acupuncturist.
I find myself continually
continuing on an unmarked road
with headphones on my ears buzzing to the noise
of soft tin and electrical Umph and Ah; messin
with the thin little hairs on my scratchy head.
Today, I see the world spinning, replacing that
familiar light blue above me, a panorama of all
that I don’t reach out for, that I tell myself has
been stripped out of arm’s reach.
I sit by the tall tree and mope again and again,
hoping someone will pass by. Maybe I wish
someone would join me in this lonely forest,
more than I wish
I could leave.
Today, I end a poem like my eyelids,
with forceful and unconditional determination
and I wonder how heavy they will be when I rise
the next morning, weighed down by the force
of pain that has emerged, anthropomorphized,
from the depths of my body, my mind, my soul.
Weakness scares me more than death, because
it consumes me like a chill running through my bones
and suddenly I lose that all powerful
separation between you
and me.
Today, that separation sits as a knife in my chest.
Today, is not much different than many days.