I Have No Enemies to Wish This Upon Anyway
When I was in
the state of erosion —
the daylight
peeling me like a fruit,
tiny sparklers
beneath one skin layer,
surface skimming,
dusted sand
upon my body,
nothing too deep
or heavy,
just a gradual
wearing away —
things were okay
This next phase,
this cruel corrosion,
it rots me from within,
conceals me
underneath layers
of lightning storms,
reveals me
in a grimace
I can’t keep from my
face
( "can't feel my face..." )
Losing vision,
losing
strength in
fingers and hands
( "you were fine the other day, I don't
understand" )
The race is over,
I barely made it
past the starting line,
and I won’t cry
because that’s tiring
I won’t complain,
there is no good use,
I’ll be fine
I’m lying,
I’m lying,
and we’re all dying
in our own ways,
so there is no loneliness
in this, not really
Some go too soon,
some forever stay
Degeneration,
oxidation,
typhoons
in my DNA,
they’re smoothing me away
Thistle Thoughts 