I grew tired of sleepless nights-

Contemplating life while simultaneously

Managing to not participate in it.

 

Memories become movies

I can no longer bear to watch-

The scratched DVD replaying the same scene

Till my eyes turned bloodshot red.

 

Sadness was a song I found beautiful

But now it brought me as much pleasure

As the triangle theorem

At a nine o'clock class

On a Monday morning.

 

Somewhere along the seemingly 

Never-ending stretch of dirt road

Whose dust reached up to choke me,

I found refuge in myself.

 

And the person I'd once been 

Became nothing more

Than a third grade year book picture.

Buried in a box, stored in the attic,

In the hope of never being seen again.