turning 27 into 72.

while i was wondering,
worrying,
waiting it out..
not noticing,
ignoring,
& ever-neverminding..

i became convinced that the clock ran out of time
instead of just batteries.

the boxes on the calender in which i couldn’t fit
made trade for some petals i blew away;
small moments in time that could have belonged to
anyone.

i fill my time full with regrets;
full of un-crossed-off lists that stack & turn yellow,
full of thoughts of things i didn’t do but should’ve,
things i’ve unwittingly given up, the

things i can never get back.

some have been gone for so long
i’ve forgotten they once had names.

but instead of reflecting &
gathering what is left of my gold i am
watching my reflection fading,
waiting
worrying
remorsing &

letting the thieves sneak back in through the window to
swallow up the rest.

wearing the waxy wings.

tossing & turning until 2am;
awake for 4

this is how it starts
again
so soon —

awoken in the way that only hypomania can
can’t sleep
can’t shut off my head
can’t stop stacking
laundry lists of things to do;
laundry lists of mistakes i’ve made
&’ll make again
my eyes are tired
but not is my mind.

it’s too busy being backwards
stuck getting too busy
looking back the path:
the long way to walk, to climb, to slide, to overcome…
but maybe i can run
faster than clock fingers

maybe i can shrug
this weight off my back
washing like waves down my shoulders
wondering,
why didn’t i do this a million times before?
haven’t i done this a hundred million times.

it’s too much to take so i’m out of bed by 6
cleaning the fridge
taking out the trash;
i can de-clutter my house
but never my mind.

this time will be different,
i lie,
i say
i will save my manias in a jar
lids extra tight.

but before i put it away
just a little sip
just the brief feeling of aliveliness
it shimmers
it promises
take me away on wings of wax, of mistakes
that don’t matter

until the crash.