One day gone, another day
replaces pieces like shattered glass and
crushed dreams: dreams cut by
snooze buttons. They wake up to
yet another day, a day where
anger was cooking: breakfast ready.
Bitter cold shields boiling hot
thoughts brought by unreleased
pressure, pushed
through to get through the day, pain
sizzling like the heat of the desert, the
oven left on. They can't
leave the kitchen because it's
too hot to move, yet they still
move, but not towards the exit; they
think the oven door is the exit, exit to
the heat, like gun shots to the head: both
leads to an exit. One path burns the
core into ashes, blown away and
never to be seen again; the other
closes: a caesura in the middle of
a cadence.