i think
i finally figured
out the schism
in my brain
this meat vessel
has shed every
original cell
and i am quite
literally not
the same person
who was born
on all saint’s day

every seven years
this reticulated fool
leaves behind
the faulty stardust
to slither sadly
into a solemn sojourn
a whole new vestibule
in uncomfortable decline

the person whom
you once thought
you knew
now resides scattered
in dustmote soliloquies
across creation
a desolate haze
where an inconvenient
existence extends
in a slowly dissipating
spiral extinguishing
every random photon
until everything
you once knew is
a faded recollection
of a world long dead

nothing tastes
how you remember
because your tongue
has never tasted
your childhood
those lips
with which you
kissed your first
love are flaccid
facsimiles that
can only dream
of innocence abandoned

i don’t hate
myself exactly
there was possibly
an earlier iteration
in which i share
a certain sentimentality
it is this current
version i cannot
seem to find any
sort of common ground
with leading to
an exasperated
incongruence
where we sit in
a hurt silence
casually hating
who we have become

maybe in seven years
this newly grounded
astronaut will find
a peace of mind
the piece i mined
then hid away for
a rainy day of solace
and promptly forget
where i placed it