Looking out the windowpanes,
i pan the sky with a watchful eye,
searching for change, longing for change,
but the moon falls in the same place,
the same place it does every day.
perpendicular to my room
and an oak tree,
cut through with just enough
space to be seen,
almost as if i were viewing
it through a diamond shaped by my hands,
or through the scope of an
unseen hitman preparing to
craft craters into man.
-
The stars too, are practically the same.
different positions, but still soulless,
large masses of absence
hidden underneath the fog of sky.
-
Despite this dull routine,
i come to this window every day,
trace my hands across the weathering wood,
press my face against the cold pane,
a pane full of secrets
i whisper into every day.
-
There’s truly nothing new,
just another day, i say,
and in my walk towards
my bed, my body feels the same.
-
Hostage to a time loop,
where even in my hourglass
the sand still somehow falls the same—
everything is always the same.
-
I just lay, crawling under
my bed sheets, pretending i don’t
hear the creaks or the waves under me,
reminding me i soon will need a new bed frame,
i lay, i lay,
i lay into my sorrow
letting my heaviest thoughts rain over me,
and they too alongside me, repeat—
-
repeat the same stories of despair.
the ones from the previous night,
and the night before that,
and the month before that,
and….
these words that appear and repeat,
find their home in me.
-
Every night i think i’m dying
running through the circles of my mind.
and every night i crave a change.
Once full of joy,
all that excites me here is now accompanied by a past tense.
sometimes i think about leaving, but i never do.
i just keep searching these empty skies for something new.
-
New corners of the moon.
new night dwellers on the streets.
new lifetimes.
new dreams.
new possibilities—
something.
but the windowpane stays the same.
and i the same with it.
just another day, i say.
just another day.