Worn out thoughts.

the morning comes too soon,

same gray light through

the window,

same coffee that

never kicks in.

the walls close in,

the clock ticks too loud,

the world spins

and I’m stuck

on this worn-out ride.

people talk,

and their words

fall flat like

old jokes.

they laugh

but it’s hollow,

a sound like

the rattling

of empty cans.

I walk the streets,

the city’s heartbeat

is a tired thud,

and the sky hangs

heavy with smog.

what’s left to do

but drag yourself

through the day,

each step a

small rebellion

against the

nothingness

that waits

like a

hungry dog?

at night,

I sit and listen

to the silence,

the only honest thing

in this place.

maybe tomorrow

will be different,

but I’m not

counting on it.

-G