The New Topography

I'm not okay when I'm okay

and similarly,

I'm not alive unless I'm dying

This will sound grim until you see that you, yourself, are withering.

Those wrinkles in your skin
are not for you to dismiss

they are to grow with you
until they eat your self-image
they are to grow in you
until they throw you from a cliff

they seek to carve in character
like a river forms a canyon
and there you stand

overlooking the abyss
of societal bliss

you sketch a smile across your face
a universal mark of content
while your self-hate asymptotes into the infinite

the way they coddled you as an infant
didn't last
you became a burden
when your need began to shift

you went from requiring physical upkeep
offering purpose
to siphoning metaphysical affirmation
poor kid

you were left to find your footing in a world left crumbling
rumbling
thundering
suffering from serious existential drift