THE DAILY GRIND

You wake up in the morning,
desiring someone who can never be.

Born anew with every waking moment,
when will you awaken without being born?

The terror of consciousness screams
you are perpetuating a fraud.

Existence clings to the bathroom mirror,
like steam from the scalding shower.

The name you scrawl on the glass,
is neither yours nor someone else’s.

Aging, decaying, dying down the street
of a deserted city—there is no one but you.

A sheet of paper lies on the curb.
You have read what is not written there.