I’m dying
of Diet Coke
Online Banking
And Cigarettes

Weak coffee and
8AM meetings
White shirts with
button stains

Goodbyes like ripping bandaids
Anxiety itching like scabbing wounds
Blurting good intentions from 100 miles away
Trying to think what my father would say

I’m dying from not writing
Damage control
Personal conflict

Learning not to say things
Breathing my reactions in and in
Dizzying motes in the void
Making the most of the high

Accidental reminders
Passive aggression
Insults for hours
apologies like signatures on bad checks

I’m dying of means to my ends
Labyrinthine highways
Pointing to dead ends
Map points that are not called “happiness”

I’m dying from me
And I know it


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