the end (of 2023)

of another day
welcoming the night
the same bed
different dreams
or nightmares

the beginning is
different (always) to the end
sweeter
filled with longing
dreams
hope

time is meant to be circular
but is not

the first –
of everything
the throne you sat on
too heavy to carry

now the fruits are overripe
my mouth is bitter
our words clash
our memories rotten

tonight, i feel wasted
the rice still raw
while the year is ending
the birds sit next to me

the skeletons are out
the closet too dusty

we are meant to look forward to
the next year
and many after

but

i look behind
all the ones i wasted
the skeletons laugh at me
my parched skin
no flesh
i turn to salt

my soul is departing
with all the secrets

in a day
it will be next year
a fresh start

but i am still
handpicking pieces of
dirt, stone, and husk
from the rice
as the birds wait with me

if i had a time machine
i would (re)wind
so i had a different bed
in a different place
where instead of night,
it was day

so i could dust the closet
and the skeletons remained

and eat all the raw rice
with the dirt, stone, and husk
fill all the empty spaces within

and my soul could stay