Curseword: Tomorrow

Too bored to smile.
My own self set trials,
Like exhausting myself
Makes me more versatile.
Thrusting what’s good to the bottoms of piles-
Like saving for later what’s truly worthwhile.

Saving for whom, and for what? I assume
Far too much and this gloom
Not one touch to the doom:
This that alters the season and which I subsume,
This that gives me no reason to leave these warm rooms,
That ties me like roots must bind all of what blooms.

We stick to each other
I stick to my bed
I stick to myself
And the sick in my head
The twists and the turns
The throbs and the aches
The guilt self inflicted
This fight or flight place,
This night and bright space
They’re almost the same
The autumn browns fade
They’re replaced by cold greys.

Tired of the concrete
Tired of the cost
Tired of my lungs burning
Brain cells I lost.

And yet, I’m so heavy
Lead in my bones
The glue in my tendons
Great torturous groans
Is there no in between?
Overwhelmed, or alone?
I can’t help but feel
I’m not real
Nor is home.

Today sure is not.
Today is not here
The future is all
As it’s always so near.
Tomorrow I’ll do it
Tomorrow I’ll look
Tomorrow I’ll run and
Write stories and cook.
Tomorrow I’ll phone,
Tomorrow I’ll call,
But tomorrow will come,
Once again, after all.

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