Huddled in a corner with a pen
the paper blots up tears and ink
and offers no hope of surcease
to seeds of panic poised to grow.
If only a little rain would fall.
my eyes adjusted to the dark last night
of the light that fades in, flickering
in the bathroom where I have spent my worst times
I saw disappointment in the mirror again
maybe someday I will learn moderation
and stop desperately trying to reach
the bottoms of cups and plates
maybe I will stop wanting to forget
maybe I will stop having to trace outlines
in the mirror of what I want to see
changing the shape of my jaw,
expectations are the root of all problems,
let them go and you will be fine.