this 2019

i can smell the regret of summer coating this coffee house
in the conversations of nearby patrons
in the tearing seams which are the misperceptions i develop
per the cherry-picked eavesdropping by my subconscious which
in result
develops a graver misunderstanding of the world around me
fuck this train of thought

triggered by the smell which recalled the odor
of bleach and toner in the june bathroom
of my place on twin oaks
the regret of cutting my character
time and time again—
for the blood loss of my mind befitted my suicidal tendencies
without causing external concerns
through scars of cuts upon my arms

the smell,
now in a coffee house in tempe,
seemed to stem from newfound burlap bags
their owner, oblivious to the distress it triggered in me
gathered her belongings and departed

yet,
i spent five minutes
lamenting a smell which was a fragment of this summer of regret
one i ought to forget
i was senseless then—
i’m overstimulated now

i’d like to become the person i once wanted to be,
but i’ve lost all sense of myself
this 2019