Shed With Age

Like a splinter,

I feel irritation boiling in my stomach.

These attachments?

I don't want them.

This closeness

I don't want it.

I want to be free and cold

icy beneath the water's surface

forgetful of feelings

never blushing with spring.

I want to be hard

as a rock.

I want to be high

as a mountain

I want to go back to being unattainable.

There is no desire for this pity

for this cheery conversation.

I want to loose myself in the convalescence of falling.