The changing winds

Keeling over the kitchen sink -mouth open comically wide-    
my stomach tries to unearth rival organs: if only it had weed killer.    
The walls are sweating, heaving out orders for nine, nine, nine;    
whilst the carpet laments “Six, six six. You’d better be prepared    
because nothing’s going to be the same after this. Six, six, six.”    
   
The skyline wavers with the changing winds,    
candle light holding secrets in-between    
the expectations I held for myself.    
I held them too high.    
   
I’m older now, seconds holding the weight of decades;    
I shed my skin and place it in the recycling bin.    
Loneliness deforms my gut, twisting until all comfort oozes out.    
More than anything I’d like to say I don’t deserve it.    
Nothing will ever be the same.
Six, six six.