The grind of a thousand sharp and
Miniscule voices
Are making getting through the day
Like getting through Tolstoy
Not that I have yet tried
Though nor am I really trying to get through the day
But rather hide
Kill time
Wish life
Away
The drill has broken surface now
At mid-afternoon
And will quite soon take purchase in the skull
Then there’s no going back
It’s either run out or take the window
No third option
Even the air grinds against it all now
An increase in heavy elements
It’s the kind of day that has been
And will again come around
Wherein you want more than
Anything
To grab them by the shoulders and scream
WHAT ARE YOU DOING
In the most basic meaning of that question
Seriously
What are you
Doing..?