surrealistic expectations

every experience
is one lived
over and over again
for the first time
in these things
the repetitious life
is filled with a
stark barren hell
of paraded monotonies
a determination to
grind smiles to dust

i repeat myself
in an effort to make
sense out of this
senseless routine
desperate to find
the correct pathway
from the labyrinth
haunting my mind

each morning begins
differently in the
exact sameness as
the morning before
of coffee steaming
and kisses blown
as the sparrows hop
anticipating the sun
yet never quite sure
if it shall rise or not

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