between murky gray undertones,
the day unfolds before me
like an old, yellow envelope
held in the creases of my palms.
washing my face in the gas station sink,
my stomach goes sour.
sitting idle in the repeating weeks,
i ask:
is this what i'm living for?
neutral toned sweatshirts and
bitter coffee that stains my teeth?
maybe i should stop asking.
after all, i am so incredibly tired.
i light my last cigarette,
and walk my last walk home.