every early night is a lie. the morning is a call I want to ignore no matter how well I sleep or dream. I remember being carried on a couch through the woods in a parade of torches at dusk. we were heading somewhere but there’s no knowing where or why when the bell rings through the trees to pull me out of bed. the mirror is a joke I can’t help but keep telling. I tie my hair back to see better and look worse.
the work is where I left it. I press some keys and then some more and answer questions with notes I made and can’t remember without reference. it’s enough to keep them happy and I smile and say thank you.
the man with the beard guards the chemist on his mattress with his dog. he doesn’t have shoes and seems to have lost the will to ask for change tonight. I make him a ghost and hide from his smile. his presence is a needle of guilt I’ll feel heavy in my veins until I check my phone. a woman asks a man if he watches many movies as they leave the cinema. his eyes are on the road and their unsaid agreement to never meet again.
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