27

the bitten flesh on the inside of my mouth is whole again.

anxious mannerisms make up the molecules of my skin.

an x on the calendar of a fresh start,

to keep old promises and make new mistakes.

twenty-seven days and i’m new again.

a double take in the mirrors of my home,

blemished ivory now glistens in the dome lights.

fingertips grasping at memories 

pinned to walls by the nimble hands from two years ago.

a stranger in the shadows at a funeral,

i always find myself attending my own.

a eulogy for a death unnoticed,

building a graveyard of regeneration.

an introduction to an audience of one.

the hands you held are not mine from september.

somehow the scars of adolescence 

will tell stories to the moments of impact 

still to imprint empty spaces on the surface. 

the mourning and missing and grieving 

of the person i was a month ago

itches the depths of my soul.

a ludicrous philosophy of my own creation,

the only constant of my being 

the one true consequence of living.

yet i will repeat the cycle until the last breath.

 

(Also published with Harness Magazine.)