Sore Eyes

My eyes grow tired of seeing
and sometimes I miss believing in this,
but I best not deceive myself again.

I am a wave, an oscillation,
a series of semi-circles
strung out in space and time.
I live a year of seasons
in a decade and a day.

Come on,
cut through me.
Take my soul and
turn it into science.
Display who I am
in diagram
and cold calculation.
It's what I do to myself.

I hate it for how good it feels
when I know that it's not real.
My dreams keep changing.
My heart keeps getting rearranged
And it makes me feel strange.
It makes me a stranger to my old friends.
It makes me a stranger to myself.