I am pushing away my talents into a pit full of defeat
Losing my sense of touch as I turn off my eyes and shut out my ears
I am managing my vices into small little pockets
Keeping them close to reap what I fancy while ignoring the pangs
I am losing my stability that once held my shoulders back and head high
As I slouch forward at my torture all day passing wisdom into ignorant ears
I am glass without even a foggy decay bouncing about the oceans surf
No message, no inside, not even a small culture clinging to the rough edges
I am falling into the lost pages of all the dusty books
Pressed flat to be a disconnected memory with a faint lingering scent
But alas, I am a strong thought late at night when all else settles down
When the moon rises and coyotes howl and the sheets rumple at thy feet