Bones Wall

He tells me tomorrow is just a repeat.

Sometimes I believe him.

Looking in the mirror with angry tears betraying my eyes, running away.

Whisper, of seeing blood, accumulate into a deafening crowd.

I skip again.

Swearing the future is yesterday.

Can’t even get breathing right.

*

He tells me nothing changes for good.

Changes corrode.

Contradicting himself but it’s too late.

Sometimes I believe him.

Into Relapse City.

Nickname: Garbageman’s can.

Projecting onto a brick wall while punching my common sense away bone by poem.

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