Post 25 (One Day When I'm Older)

It seems that
Once I reach the far corner of my day
I curl up in it, and a bit more life bleeds out

Just a bit.
I think this happens to us all; on an exhale
In a look, at the bottom of a glass

And I'm left wondering as I feel
The slow burn of summer, the long days marking me

I'm burning and bleeding, these things are all figurative and somehow
It makes it worse, sort of.

I've always been better with the pain you can feel and see
The pain in your muscles, the pain on your skin.

But the nagging pain in my soul
What do I do to cool that?

I feel myself prickle, I feel myself get angry
Because my mind will not be made up
I make big, hacking strokes at my psyche

I'm sure that does nothing to catch the life
Where it dribbles, unused, spilled.
I'm always spilling, but for the occasional fit of splendor

I'll drink it in, I'll be drunk on it
Careening on something I'm afraid to examine too closely
 But one day I won't be
When I stop worrying at it

One day when I'm older.