28 May

i can't overcome this holiday
i am perpetually wasting my time

waste: as in,
the excess of the unnecessary
the garbage of the procrastinator
the extras of the unintentional
the refuse of the untimely

it was something,
just not what it should have been
this awareness was constant
it was a break,

but i still existed
i still breathed in and out regularly
at the same rate that i breathed

when I was in my apartment on my couch
on a rooftop in Mexico
speeding beneath the streets of Moscow
in the middle of a dense crowd somewhere, everywhere
pressed and shoved like an appendage of a mass
completely and totally alone
on the abandoned streets of nowhere exotic

the seconds and minutes passed as they do.
with the same rhythmic regularity
minutes bleed into hours, which
transform into days
and the transition is spent sleeping
sometimes, dreaming
of things that are not real, but could be

when today becomes tomorrow,
what kind of meaning will a day have?