the world feels
plasticized
or i cannot reach
through the mire
of myopic dreariness
encapsulating
this moribund day
to feel anything
except things
slipping away

it definitely
could just be me

sitting in a lot
watching construction
yellow dinosaurs
tearing apart roads
scraping and chewing
shitting out new
lanes that look just
about the fucking same

am i trapped
in a redundancy
cut off in
a sidestream of
temporal neglect?

probably not

but it feels
just the same as
the end of the world
no matter how
you slice it

staring at the comet
thinking it’s just
the sun coming closer
to say good morning
they’ll find me
perfectly preserved
pickled in asphalt
her name half written
in one last i love you

the perpetually pissy
bipolar byproduct of
irradiated daydreams
spitting into the wind
in one last defiantly
disappointing discombobulation