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.