March 21, 2024

The days are repeating.

I have a flat tire. The same black mustang passes me on my way to work everyday. I miss a brown eyed boy.

My lip stays chapped. My knees are cold & pale. The lump in the back of my throat never goes away.

I'm afraid of forgetting what little I know. My little sister doesn't need me anymore.

The pack of cigarettes always sits in my drawer. I eat one meal a day. Water is my gateway.

I don't speak to my father. I miss it when I was five. I spilled water on the headphones I just bought.

I read Albert Camus. I don't know what my brother is up to. Drawing faces of what I could possibly be.

I lost my necklace in the middle of a big room. My mother is paranoid of everything I do. Drink from the same water bottle. Cry under the same moon.

The days repeat.