again and again and again and
again left with this dying life,
this slow extinguishing flame,
this total and absolute longing
for something you can’t define.
calendars, with their uselessness,
neatly thumbtacked to dirty walls,
covered in holidays, lunar cycles,
birthdays, and emptiness… mock
your life with their lack of purpose.
days and months blend together
becoming a muddied grey. years
pass with no sense of grounding.
time is relative as long as you
believe in life, but the future
is meaningless when you
have nothing to wake for.
