boiling down the fountain of youth to give myself a steam room

here i have been, for how long is unknown, self-presented

as an unsuspecting victim out of his element.

it's a fool's-gold-plated defense-

bougie with a deliberate perspective

looking down upon the world. it might fool some;

but upon appraisal, the facade is found desperately lacking truth.

i didn't know then when i waged war on all i was what felt so out of reach-

i just had to see what it was that i kept myself from being.

it wasn't so much the stars but something far less.

theo-rhetorically manifested youth as wasted-

thinking i was in my prime before i realized how alive i was or i wasn't;

potentials i had yet to forfeit to the impending doom of the mortal coil.

to omega was as far as i could imagine,

denying myself the power of creation in an end.

i refused myself in infinity pacing figure-eights,

all around my head. running myself in circles made it easy-

enough to believe i wasn't going nowhere, a cheap distraction

to keep from facing that i didn't even know my way back from there-

i forgot that we are all born on the banks of the fountain of youth

and the older we get the less it's magic can soothe our soul.

slowly it becomes like any other puddle to us.

even if i remembered all my lies that shifted into truth, i'd still protest-

i would never drink and bathe in the pristine water

just to have it wash away that much less in some other future.

in the name of conservation, spare some for the next time

things start feeling like the freefall of a downpour because what i am

adding more water to a rainstorm reminds us that it can always get worse

no matter how prepared i am not.

this might be the end, but that's just another way

that i say that this is where it will all begin.