as your days reach their thousands time warps the mind into believing peace nights belong only for the privileged. desires touch, lives among packs of wolves. in the absence of presence something is missing. tell me, what is it? as your days reach their thousands something in your life is lost like a boat in misty waters. among the common daily rituals of occupation, car keys hung on a hook dust wiped from shelves back pain constant, as wind gives a sense of missing. what is it? as your days reach their thousands you forget, moon wonderment yet obsess over the weight. responsibility you carry on your shoulders like a cross, enter a space of servitude call centre booth. counter with a till a hole you dug with labouring limbs. the flash of memory, lightning sky, but what is it? as your days reach their thousands a world full of dreams are sacrificed for obsession. until only the memory of something missing remains. what is left slowly wriggles away returns to an earth, where flowers once sprung from dirt. earth ready for another soul full of the unrestful, the unspoken.
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