There is fright in novelty,
Which is rendered pretentious
Under the masquerade of a frequent habit.
There is anxiety in trust,
Which ebbs and flows whimsically
Under the vulnerability of being heard, loved.
Streetlights stare blankly,
Traffic horns distract subtly,
As my feet take me, floating through the
Usual chaos, wrapped in mundane regularity.
Where am I ?
How far am I from who I used to be?
I’ve bartered the old, for the version that grew,
And drifted too far from the anchor I knew.