The Dysfunctional Pilgrim

If sadness and fear are my friends why do I hate their companionship? If I feel empty inside why does my pulse beat so painfully?

1. It is the ache in your spine 2. It is the hollow of your ribs, when your lungs have vanished 3. It is the swell in your eyes, but not from tears 4. It is the stickiness of tears, finally falling 5. It is the blank blue of the late night 6. It is the clear grey of the early morning 7. It is the soft pulsing in your skull, not hurting but ever present 8. It is 9. It is 10. It always is

I miss my old skin; my new one stretches too thin. It itches, tearing me     apart. It Hurts. Will I get used to It, or Will I grow a New one? New Haven, March 2018 (Hello! That's my first poem since my poetry course and I don't know if I like it or not. I guess I'm experimenting meaninglessly)