I'm off to work
25 minutes later
I'm on my desk.
It's empty.
The day passes by
so smoothly
Nothing to stir the heart

I'm in my car
it drives so well
Nothing that makes it stop

I'm back home
dinner at 7 pm.
Nothing exciting to tell

It was a good day.
A fab year
and a decade passes like that.  

There's strange odour
emanating from the ether
I look at my hands and feet
now covered in brown-orangey rust
I've turned into oxide.