days bunch up in weeks, collaborate months against me.
the sheets are stained with evidence that our remains are now, drifting away.
i share with complete strangers my most personal of pleasures.
i scribble tidbits of useless mind info- trash, treasure.
spend hours, at my leisure, like sharpened precise tweezers.
shifting through in the frame by frame
i walk the same path
i’ll say the same lines
i do this every time
do this every time
dodging armpit stench aromatic
wrapped up in my own self-induced stress panic
i think i am the only one in this shifting through
they’ll collaborate in months against me.