Every(), I will (be) who I am

Everymorning,  I wake up and settle in:

To the cozy, approaching constricting, blanket of comfortable familiarity,

Pungently exuding the rot of yesterday’s failures and,

More forebodingly, the sweet desperation of tomorrow’s promise,

Keeping the world comfortably distant.


Everyday,  I struggle against:

That pulsating urge, echoing through my mind and body in equal measure,

To surrender to the prison of calcite to which I was doomed,

Before conception or conception,

To bear ’till death do us part.


Everyeve, I wonder as a child does:

If I am the me I was supposed to be?

As the sun sets, I can see my own end,

Casting long shadows on my shallow life,

Eclipsing the certainty sunlight had shown me.


Everynight,  I kill myself.






Myself sticks around to watch and salvage the parts,

Sifting, through the lens of tomorrow, for the best,

Of me and the day to rebuild:

The me made for tomorrow.


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