still a little tarnished
like the dent on the kitchen table
my knuckles sting but i still knock on wood
still a little impatient
like a four leaf clover grown on rugged terrain
my back aches but i still crouch over the grass
still a little submerged
like the pennies in the fountain at the mall
my eyes water but i still toss copper prayers
still a little twisted
like my fingers as i cast out another wish
my hand burns but i still cross them extra tight
still a little hopeful
like staring at the analog clock and it’s 11:11
my lungs throb but i still hold my breath
still a little superstitious
like the girl in the mirror looking back at me
my faith in luck buckles but i still wear charms
i’m still a little fleeting, like the adrenaline rush from a high. the euphoria of the high dwindles into sepia toned fragments but i still replay them when i’m not floating through cosmic boredom.
- A.H.
