another day you didn’t earn or ask for
is gone.

you didn’t do what you needed to do
and now
it’s night
(79.8 degrees:  too warm for windows).

You wonder if your life will always be like this,
if it would be better to take it back with drastic measures.

Well, you won’t this close to bedtime.  Tomorrow work starts

What a shit way to end a poem and continue a life,
you’re a can of freshly-opened tennis balls
with one already missing.

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