I've been pacing 'round the kitchen again,
keeping an eye on the clock
as I rotate on a teetering thought;
my axis.

When I am sick, they give me pills
and when that doesn't work,
more pills.
This is if I choose to tell them, of course
(because sometimes I don't -
there is a terrible joy in keeping secrets,
you know).

I hate your friends,
and being sixteen and sober, but I have time
to rely on. It is unshatterable
as nothing else is.

Unlike the empty glasses that
flood my countertops;
unlike this skin-bone body;
unlike people and places...
the bombs we build could easily
turn us all to ash.
We'd be so much the same (so at peace)!
Would it be unbearable? I can't say.
I will admit that much right now.

What of the end of our perfect, gated world?
No, I cannot say.