I like old things

broken and discarded

Old faces are a mystery to me

and I wonder what they have seen

I’m shaving in a mirror

with a used razor blade

before I go to work

to an all too common job

As I get older

I care less what people say

They care less about what I say

until we reach a stalemate

Give me time alone

and I instantly feel better

Falling in love

with my own fantasies

How many of us

remain uncovered

undiscovered

treasures

that don’t want to be found

I look at society

moving at a rushing pace

and I wonder at the people

who have been discarded

Those lost souls

who have lived differently

and don’t need as much

as the rest of us

Old things whisper to me

just like they whisper to you

You must listen

to hear them

Life away from life is living.

My breath is foreign in the wasteland

and I am more grateful for it.