Can you get any lower? I wonder,
“Can you talk any slower?” out loud.
The difference between what’s in my mind, and what is ‘life’ is a thin line,
and everything’s lost in a cloud.

“You’re not who I thought you’d be,” she says
to herself in the mirror, but who is?
People find themselves different, and better; Not failing and falling faster,
into a trash compactor abyss.

Crush me with the rest of the garbage,
compact me down under the clay.
Or recycle these thoughts into something new,
so that I can be better someday.

Luciana, 35