Struggling to break out of the cocoon I’ve made for myself
Three years have built up these walls – my weakness
Tempting Grandpa’s disease and the rest
The smoke
The bottle
The Oblivion
One who should be grown it is still so tiny and weak inside
Caving and cracking
Putting aside the old ways
All my friends tell me not to bother – they do not perceive my illness
Little hands that used to reach for me have grown strong – perhaps stronger than I am
This giant brain of no use against these bonds
Painting the mask over the lines and angles on my face that are new to me – accented by the tears that flow more freely now
Without the blunting
The thing that I am wishing for but putting aside like one packs away an old glove
Worn and familiar, touching the edges even as she places it in the box
Wishing she could wear it again the way she used to but knowing that for her it has forever changed
The morning routine now soul-less or salted with tears torn from aching eyes
Now feeling each insult and blow from an unfriendly world.
Eyes that sneak to the edge of the interstate for some quick mercy hidden in a light pole
A guard rail.
A semi.
