It was methodical, the way I went through my day,
Up out of bed, right to the dresser, down to the ground,
Pajamas droop to the floor as I await to gather them,
Toss them into the hamper and turn left to leave the room.
I would exit and enter the bathroom, look at the mirror,
Brush my teeth in tiny circles I only hoped to be exact
As if I could control the precision of my existence.