Simple Math

27 feels like 17. I am finally young again. I've wasted some years being an old woman on her death bed. I can wait another 50 years or so. 50 years which is a long time. Where have you been? Loops and scratches. Smears of ink. My pen paints imperfections onto perfect paper. The hand changes throughout but it's always me. I am always me. I am always screaming. I have to work at not being a zombie, a lifeless body, a functioning corpse. I think I've lost my touch. I have to take the next step. Experiences. The law of percentages promises me what I want & what I don't want. I want poetry, I want insight without pain.

But I can't cheat.