I stare down the barrel of a new life

and am riddled with the sweet taste of

childhood anxiety

The kind that tastes like bubblegum and

plastic foods.

I am no longer manufacturing a taste for coffee

and wondering if there will be a day

when my palate finally locates the taste for the stuff

I consume in excess and

breathe empty breaths.

What once was a

youthful experiment is now

addiction.

As it always is.

One thing remains the same,

the thin sliver of fog that passes when I first

open my eyes.

Where I think

I am alone

Before I know that I

am alone.