dead feelings

dead feelings surface like miscarried fetus
in fits of despair
like every good abortion the subject must be sucked out
or sit and rot
surface in a horrifying scream
scratch a dream
in the instant of realization
that we are but dust and overgrown dolls
danced down the illusory aisle
but the illusion of time
becomes unforgivably unkind
when it realizes itself on your face
we all grow
as i have never been this way before
and may (will) never be this way again
and we all grow old
though i feel as old as i ever hope to get
so old that memories are the only solids
i still swallow