tracing my fingertips on the throbbing edge of futility

i trace
the edges of futility
exasperated by
the obviousness
in universal disdain
and i am done
for the day
before it even had
a chance to begin
tired and aching
unable to differentiate
if i am
nonexistent
or simply a punchline

the washing machine
sat smoking
my clothes sitting
in filty water
as the attendant
stood staring
the four o’clock
in the morning
wake up call after
a three o’clock
curtain call has left me
unwilling to attempt
faking humanity
for a moment longer

i poke and prod
the tender spots
hoping to deaden
the ceaseless agony
knowing nothing
myself least of all
matters in the slightest
the wheel of entropy
wobbles along
and i am chained
to the spokes
dizzy and anxious
sick of this
perpetual failing

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