December 17th

Touch my soul- my beard, for appearances
and I must look 100 years old.
But we were kids when everything went orange & red,
the sunspots creep inside my head- sad places that experience yields.

What a crock, this letdown, left high
paranoid of these fleeting moments until they subside.
Panic at the coasters peak, the horizon where I rode free.

The freedom of youth, mired in responsibility
paved with indifference… just as I left you here

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