in the morning they wake me
with sounds like
apocalypse
spelled out strangely in the mind
sometimes
it's enough to have the image
vision of tomorrow and the next
seeing
people i know, too
but not well enough to say hello to
you are not aware of
not only are you so aware of
you must be ignoring this way of
affecting my life.
ways of living hard when
the days of living hard are
not your own.
back bones bent from
the weight of the sad words
you gave me
(as some sort of miserable gift)
i am too much too much too
ready for this to end,
waiting for the sun to stall
horizon lines the wrinkles on my face
i'm too young to be growing
this ugly
this ugly
this far from beauty.
i must have adopted this from my mother
strained in the ways of the
process
of dealing with problems far from
my own-
it's affecting me
in the strangest ways.
the birds know the words to explain.
listen to the way they cry
"apocalypse"
and you'll understand.