As I grow up,

(I never promised Peter Pan)

the imbalance of chemicals

try to right themselves into what

will be,

is me.

 

So if I seem louder,

so if I find it uncomfortable

to cross my ankles, one over another

rather than as I'm

used to,

one over a knee,

maybe you and I never

knew me.

 

It isn't not me,

which means

it is me.

Double negatives

I count more these days

even thinking about

the boundless infinity

of stars, waiting

among nebulae imploding,

sucked into a vortex void where

entropy

ended me.

 

Even when,

my head muddles

and I don't

feel

much like apologizing these days,

except when I believe

I'm an offence

every time

oxygen enters my lungs

and disperses what is left

inside me.

 

I'm trying to feel more than fear

burning my cells over eighty to one hundred years,

a theory discussed over and over

by my DNA donors,

in the dead of night

while I remain transfixed

by LED light

spilling into reality,

distorting me.

 

All I can taste are the chemicals blancing

as I grow old.