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A thousand small needles
Over a thousand small days
Each point piercing nothing more
Than the skin’s surface
But still
 
And you feel to disappear
Just disintegrate
But something will not allow it
 
Each point an awakening of sorts
Like a room of grown men
Each in varying degrees of failure
Manifesting in the despair of
A new shirt
Risky haircut
Crazy socks
 
Like a lost old lady
Hardly there but for her cane and
Coloured hair
Asking for help with a 

    crack in her voice
 
This pain is a dark morning
And
Sunlight in your eyes while
At the job
Sirens and car horns
An absence of psychedelic logic
 
A thousand years past
And a thousand more to come
And still
The same voices
Droning and breathless
They skim the surface and dissipate
In the grey mornings mist
But still
 
You feel to disappear
Just disintegrate
But something will not allow it
 
And you wish to forget
To avoid anger
But something will not allow it
 
A thousand years of repetitions
Of the same rules
The same poems
The same hatred
 
The pain is a dark morning
And sunlight in your eyes

 

Dress down Thursday

As bad as it gets 
A flash of light can still
Arrive
And remind me that
At least I avoided having to 

Every day

Go to a job 
That makes me wear a tie 
With my top shirt button 
Done up