xxii. REUSE, REPEAT, RETHINK,
DROWN IN WHAT IS GONE.
my life is a repetition of
waking up anchored to my mattress
in the corner of the darkest house
only to feel empty when the
blinds are pulled to witness
a cloudy night.
flicking the lights on
and sinking into the realization
that another day
has just been wasted.
YOU ARE READING
what tomorrow brings.
Poetryxvii, april. (iii). you have no voice if no one is listening. © playlist poetry h.r. : #3
