Sunrise
a mistake, again.
Instant coffee in an old cup —
dishwater taste, faded designs.
Make a taut face in the bathroom,
a blade against my throat.
See this long line in my hand?
A lie, I suspect.
The door a puzzle.
Getting out today? Perhaps.
Sleep all the way
through the deadly commute.
Ashes on the sleeve.
In exile in the smoking cold.
What did the book say
about my expectations? No matter now.
Tomorrow?
I’m not laughing. I won’t be.
Dark Matter 
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