Deja Vu

“Again.” The word's a parasite and seems
Affixed to everything, my bed, my meals,
My job, all of the aspects of my dreary days.
Why not have eggs again this morning?
Why not take the shortest route to work,
No longer bothering to register the images
Which loom on either side of me? Each
Hour of my job's the same. Each moment
Of my time at home repeats the ones which
Came before. I'm terrified of learning I'll
Return to this when I have died. One pass,
I feel, should be enough. I cannot go again.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 29 times
Written on 2021-08-26 at 01:20

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