Years
I was made of smoke and ice
For Years
Before I ever smoked ice
All of those Years
That it took me to grow the mycelium
Taking root o'er the Years
Growing a crystalline crust of salt
Those sparkling layers deprived of their Years
Every memory of the lepidoptera I raised
Tossed in a wastebasket to rot in the Years
I'm expected not only to keep calm
But thankful that I've lost those Years
Working toward little things that make me smile
And humble and sullen and reminded
Not of progress, but only of Years
Where I was broken and dejected
How audacious of me to assert my healing
When all of the Years
I lived a life I wouldn't wish on another
Those Years
Are all you'll permit me to exist in
Years
You know nothing of Years Years Years