I’m sitting in the sand, allured by the water.
The sky begins to collapse, a complete beauty slaughter.
I open my eyes and behold! It’s my room; the mess, the hate, the direful gloom.
No sunshine, no manumission, no beautiful shore;
it’s not a new day, I’ve had this day before.
I peer at the ceiling, at the detail and the dirt
and wonder what the day will bring. Will I be happy? Or will I be hurt?
I instinctively assume it will be a painful waste;
leaving me broken and lost, hoping to be erased.
I’ve had these thoughts of the torment I abhor;
It’s not a new day, I’ve had this day before.
I’m drowning in imposters masquerading as friends;
grieving their lack of attempts to cleanse and make amends.
My hopes are suffocating in the regrets of a hardened heart;
the paranoia and distrustfulness making a failure out of any fresh start.
I long to go back, I wish there was time I could borrow.
It’s been a day, but not a new day… maybe tomorrow.
In image form: