Every week I shed my face,
Don the youthful appearance
Of my latent longing eye
Buried deep within
An unconcerned
Apocalyptic
Mind.
Every day I seek that face
Once, or twice, spoken to
Like it held the answers
To someone’s solemn
Dream.
Every moment I find
Only shattered memories
Of what one was
An I.
Every shard just evidence
Of yearning
To stay
Alive.
