twelve dead pages

i lay awake
on the parchment
thin skin of
the dying year
listening to
the final liquid
filled wheeze
before the
echoing heartbeat
pumps its last

red marked pages
of another calendar
goals unaccomplished
dreams left unfulfilled
laying in the landfill
to slowly fade away
into another rigid
man made construct
showing how little
control we assert

given up on this
new year new me nonsense
since tomorrow
cannot tell the
difference between
itself and yesterday
today is a state of
unbeing held in stasis
hoping for a brighter
future while trapped
in the looping coils
of the current nothing

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