again, it is different.

i carry my teeth in my pocket.
these days i'm too worn out.
too worn out to face the water.

but i see the salt spray when it hits your face,
when you wipe it from your cheek.

it will never go away.

i wish that i would never go away,
that you could carry me in your pocket instead,
that i could empty myself of all the things i hate-
i hate so much.

but the water will pull me in again
so that i will go, down, down, down
and down again
until not even the sea lions can see me.
i know you can't.

and i wonder what it would be like
if i stopped asking questions.
would i be troubled still?
would i be the same?
would i finally get some answers?

who knows.
god knows i don't.
i know you never will.