it’s the blue in my coffee
the blue in my hand
the blue when i get up at midnight
when i’m afraid i can’t take a stand
against myself i stand
in the mirror when i cant recognize myself
or i know her too well
too well or not well enough and it’s too hard to tell
i ask her if things will change in a year or so
clearly not in a week when things should change, they do anything but, and my flowers die but don’t grow
and i walk my walk in the night and ask myself this:
when am i rid of this toxic chemical bliss?

when...