pillows interrogating me for lost dreams,
sheets filing restraining orders against my sweat.
The sun crawled in like a landlord in debt,
all bright teeth and bad manners.
I gave it the bird and rolled over
into another dimension of maybe-later.
My phone chirped some corporate gospel,
a hymn for the damned:
“Get up. Produce. Consume. Die politely.”
I threw it against the wall —
it didn’t even flinch.
Outside, the world flosses its teeth with power lines,
chews on unpaid overtime and late fees.
They say “manifest your destiny.”
Sure.
I manifested a crater where my motivation last sat,
a love letter to gravity and inertia.
God calls sometimes —
leaves voicemails that sound like broken car alarms.
I delete them all,
prefer the silence of planets minding their own damn business.
Tonight, I’ll slip into the folds of the sky,
let the stars scribble insults on my forehead,
dream of a place where tomorrow
forgets my name.
