“why?”

everyday is the same uniform tedious bullshit

that is told apart by the numbers on dates and the weather

or the sky.

there is, in fact so much uniformity that i forget what makes things different

and am left with ghosts to remember them by.

i am not depressed.

i

feel

blank.

most nights when i go home,

i stare at the ceiling and ask myself

“why?”

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