In preparation for each stationary day

I let my mind wander

until it runs away

and every day it doesn’t

want to come home to where

no chances are given for a break

and each blatantly false date

is given for its release

no clock that I own is ticking true

and I’m running out of room

for all the shit that I’ve groomed

for my exotic travesties

no toxic and spastic tragic blooms

into tomorrows tune

I know nothing of this room

or where I’ll be when the sun rises true


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