By David Himmel

Your near-dead heart is running at a million miles an hour

Desperately trying to keep your head from collapsing in on itself.

Trying to prove you are valuable, interesting, worth the hassle.

So what have you got to give?

Superficial charm delivered in authentic wit.

A tide pool of passion and curiosity

That drains with the muscle of the moon.

With the cadence of mood.

Your heart is trained for a marathon.

You’re pushing it to sprint.

And like running in sand, you get nowhere too fast.

Nowhere too far.

More like spinning bicycle wheels in that sand.

A quicksand trap of nothingness.

Which is exactly what you seem to want.