The New Year
acquires old baggage.
Well-worn tricks
from unresolved fears
suck, slather, ooze
my falsely pristine figure.
I am decrepit.
My hopes and beliefs
sag, tare, decompose
and flutter away.
And I pretend to be distraught.
Pretending eases the pain
of violent deformation
of personal identity
into apathetic ash.
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