Enhanced by Cataracts

I was old before I was young. Cigarettes and skin doing performance art in my underpants. Red tantrums of womanhood escaping the neat receptacles I bought for them. Possible tears on trial for fraud.

Teddy bears face first in the graveyard. Curious with their pink felt tongues. How these mountains came from nowhere to separate us. The perpetual presumes us in delicate intervals. Time paces in blunt expositions. Frailties we thought overcome.

If it's not Freud, then, it must be Jung. It's something. Isn't it? If I'm still stuck in here. The struggle empowering the failure. In sweet recessions of touch.

It's over. I am not.