every night I stop and think I worked a little more than usual. there is always more tomorrow no matter what I do today. every morning I wake with my head on the pillow and rise to the sound of the chime that I’ve timed to get me working at my desk before I have to. I finish later than I should with less time between dinner and dreaming. before bed I forget to pray. perhaps I’ve found a new religion in the rhythm and demands of the work that keeps me safe.
in my dreams I visit the carcasses of rooms I used to know. sometimes I catch the ghosts I try to shake when I’m awake. at the supermarket I scan my card and the numbers matter less and I’m disgusted by my comfort in the face of knowing that I have whilst others lack. I beg the pixels on my screen to free me from my thoughts and space to breathe.
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