Losing

(a poem)

This old, tired crisis.

Staring in the face,

The death of a necessary part of me.

As the light leaves the eyes,

The feelings slip through my hands.

I fall out of love,

This old, tired decision.

Kill the rest of the tiny, innocent emotions,

Bury them away.

This world spares no time to grieve,

And so,

Freed of the joy,

I adapt.