the calendar has
grown thin
shedding sheets
until one
thirty one squared
page remains
while the mornings have
grown cold
in texas although
i seem to be
shivering all
throughout the day
teeth chattering
as i absorb the
silence of a
fresh day to be
spent in the same
half dreamt hells

eleven pages
litter the floor
of months past
filled with dreams
unfulfilled
little cartoon hearts
scribbled all over
the margins
as we move forward
into a future
that doesn’t seem
to have noticeably
evolved in any
meaningful way

in fact i find
myself squinting at
the year stamped
on each month
to be sure we aren’t
in some time loop
repeating the same
days perpetually
as they have all
blended into one
cronenbergian inspired
nightmare of jarring
camera cuts and
uncomfortable truths

the calendar has
grown thin
along with my
barely there patience
waiting to rubberband
back into forward
momentum rather than
circling around
the same dead ends
each night spent
waking after three hours
to spend three more
pouring myself into
the indifferent ceiling

a cyclical insanity
of seeking six hours
to slumber peacefully
scraping together
dreamshards in exhaustion
sending my love to her
as the months fall
an accumulation of
blurred days become weeks
until the false construct
that is time melts into
a dull afterimage
blinking back the
stabbing rays of light
overwhelmed by shadows
in the shape of
pretty little cartoon hearts