Yesterday, I injured myself

and the explanation didn't make sense.

I said "Well, I was walking..."

and that was the end of the story.

At this age,

my body is a stranger that I

keep meeting over and over again.

The word "I am" are slowly

transforming into "I used to be"

because every year,

the past tense finds a larger house

inside the neighborhood of my

everyday vernacular.

I am slowly realizing that

when the skeleton is new

and the bone are vibrant,

they coerce the mind into

thinking the days will pass,

but the flesh will not.

Youth promises us immortality,

but doesn't have the means to

uphold its end of the bargain.