i would roll up my sleeves to face the day but the left shoulder is at thirty percent mobility

covered in sweat as i roll out of bed already too tired to face the same day as yesterday

one day is the same as tomorrow as the one that came before as the one that recycles itself

etched in pain while reborn in futility the remains of whenever become the bones i navigate

i would write a new poem but it will left unread just like the last poem and the hundred before

there are only so many words to spit into the wind to fly back with a read notification

accumulating scars like stamps on a passport from a business man at the mall selling cheap knives

i can cut a tire then a can then through a tomato like a rock onto the placid lake surface

i am the blade the rock the lake the tire but tomatoes are too acidic for such a basic mind

so i cringe while rolling up my sleeves to face the new day the same as the one that follows

scar tissue like a road map that crosses the landscape of emptiness and bitter returns