unedible

There are some things I just can't take on anymore.
You're nothing like me.
I'm somewhere between indifferent and zealous.
I've worked myself to that place.
Away from status epilepticus.
Sterility.
It's good to be one or the other
They tell you, and there's
The sense that one must choose.
I used to pour it on
What I thought was for the best
Like rubbing alchohol on an open wound.
Sure it'll be clean
But there are other ways you know.
I didn't
But I do now.
There are other ways.

Today on the subway
Out of the corner of my eye
I saw what I thought was a cockroach
Slick and dark shelled climbing the grey wall.
Turns out it was a metal bolt
But jarred me of my comfort.
Maybe this train I ride everyday
Maybe it's not so safe
Maybe I've become too comfortable.
Like when you walk down the street
Lost in your own happiness
The sun on your face
Like this is your moment
Only to turn your ankle.

Maybe if i'd paid more attention...
But if I look hard enough in any direction
I'll see the dirt
The carnage
The vermon
The cracks
The holes
The cuts.
But even an infant knows
When they've had enough
They avert their eyes.
They turn away.

Well part of me is relieved that I've come to this
That you've come to me
In the way you have
And kept your distance
Doing your own thing
Carting around wounds
Consuming everything in sight.
It all seems poetic on paper.
But even sunshine is menacing
And I'm looking away.