Off

It's never easy leaving. Then my mind
Shuts down upon itself and will not let
The thoughts of my departure come. I'm blind
To my own future, but I can't forget
Making the plans, preparing, readying
To go, and so although the mind may hide
Pretending what's to come's some other thing
The truth is in there, somewhere deep inside
Insisting on existence, such that I
Despite my wishes, feel the bitter cold
Of knowing I will go despite the lie
My mind attempts to tell itself. I fold
Up in myself and think of better days.
Usually that helps, but not always.