i am unable
to differentiate
this dark morning
from the hundreds
of mirrored days
where i sit
combing through
the night prior
seeing the same pleas
gone unanswered

being a god must be
the same as a bird
you create
then push the spawn
from the nest
the ones that do not
slam into the ground
with a hollow snap
are the ones you
most fervently ignore

put your phone
on silent or let it
fall between the
worn couch cushions
sit on a cloud staring
dispassionately at
a world you have long
grown quite bored of
as it is all blotted out
in a spill of toxins
choking the garden
into just another
ossuary of dreams

i don’t know the date
barely know the day
just that it is the same
a symptom of cyclical
insanities flashing
the same hidden codes
in the smothering silence
as the sun yawns from
behind the clouds
even the moon is tepid
a sallow reflection in
shallow rejections
hanging itself over
the same goddamned dawn

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