Emotionally, I’m looking like last year’s
frozen birthday cake –
airless, with too many broken candles.

I’ve been in the fridge too long.
I’m beyond the use-by date.

The leftover pieces are stuck in my throat,
unmeltable,
unquenchable.

The taste has become too strong,
coldly unbearable.

And everything in the crisper box
has turned brown and wrong.

I feel I’m no longer in tune
with the world’s worn-out song.

Editor: Erynn Crittenden