I do not like things,
the way they have been,
two weeks from now,
I still won’t like them –
and two years away,
as a New Year rolls in,
I likely still won’t like things,
the way that they have been.
I can’t describe things,
with the words I’d like to,
mouth won’t speak the sentences,
I need to say in truth –
nothing’s down the road ahead,
to cure this pseudo-mute,
no finish line to run toward,
or spectators throwing food.
I just can’t seem to feel things,
in ways that I can almost recall,
this bloodlessness has dropped me,
til I have nowhere left to fall –
the truths behind the tragedies,
will seep through hairlines in the wall,
no…I do not like things,
the way that they have been, at all.