invisible ink over lines of salt

i struggle with knowing exactly what day it is, what date it is, as each day blends into the same slurry of half attentive grime under gray skies, surrounded by angry faces unconcerned with traffic laws or basic kindnesses

there is a fleeting panic as i guess which thing i have forgotten, what i am missing in the grand scheme, i am a top spinning carelessly over the table, knocking over the salt shaker, the shallow furrows in the particulants the only sign i was even here, a haphazard trail of lost longings wrapped in best intentions

watching a drug deal in the gas station parking lot, admiring the lack of spatial awareness as business is conducted in front of a full lot of rain sprayed police cruisers, while i slam my head into the steering wheel to shake loose the demons stealing my ability to breathe, to think, to focus on anything but

i have mapped the cosmos in invisible marker across the ceiling as i am wrapped tightly in insular sorrows, an eventual suicide note only visible in ultraviolet rays, a last will and testament of another evening spent tired and awake, pushing myself to keep going nowhere at the speed of exhaustion

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