still acting out old edicts
i shower and dress
breakfast and brush teeth
commute to my sentence
people say failure is destitution
but when i sit at my desk each day
exiled from myself for what they will pay
it doesn’t feel like success
returning to our house i don’t want to speak
my day was the same i know you know
because you pull me back from the tracks of
my oncoming thoughts
with your hands home
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