Each day the traffic
and the noise.
The internal process of
rushing off.
Trying so hard.
Beating the clock.
Like a rocket
ready to launch.

Each day strumming
the same tune.
You become
almost numb
until you're immune
to life
and its sequence
of events.
The status quo
is that they're transient.

Each daydreaming
those same dreams.
Hanging yourself
on the rope
that you tied the knot on
so, you wouldn't
lose hope,
as it's become
a four-letter word
that you use asterisks
to replace the sting
of realizing
the whole sordid thing.