with every sleepless night
with every day of doubles
year after year of wear and tear
living on the razor’s edge,

parties and adventures
debauchery and delinquency
time proceeding heavy-handedly
toward a cold, hard, clock,

with waning focus and
goldfish-like attention-span
—internal turmoil—
vacated inspiration and
motivation misplaced
—ill-driven—
the older you get

the packing up and moving
and the not-even-really-unpacking
anymore, from place to place—
the obligations, the responsibilities,
the trying to make it all work! and
to get them ends to meet!

the stress, the worry, the anxiety
—the guilt, the anguish—
deteriorating relationships,
and those forlorn, bereft forever,

the wind whipping whatever
it wants, wherever it wants,
—whirling—
with no regard for
the mess it’s left behind…

it’s years later,
it’s just you, and
“who even are you?”
you ask yourself when
you look in the mirror

shit, you think it’s hard now?
—don’t fret, my friend—

it gets harder

…though once in a while, it’s
the easiest thing in the world.