Worry wraps itself around me
like a cloak I can’t take off.
I long to remove its heavy cover,
slip into raw naked innocence
where purity is simple ignorance.

I want to shed this skin of turmoil,
rub myself with lotioned bliss
separate my mind from body,
unhitch my brain and let if flow
adrift upon oblivion’s sea.

I’m like an old wind-up toy
wound too tight – spring broke,
just an abused mechanism.
The painted smile is all they see,
ruby red lips in perfect pout
frozen for the world to see.

Given instructions I try to follow
well, only well is never well done
as in meaningful compliment but
more like well-done as in
cook my food now.

I stand at the stove flipping
slabs of lifeless flesh and
stirring concoctions that
only serve to clog arteries.

These burdens are a chastity belt
making me untouchable.
The suffering is done in silence.
The dreams have all but faded away.