Days bunch up in weeks, collaborate months against me. 

The sheets are stained with evidence that our remains are now, drifting away. 



I share with complete strangers my most personal of pleasures. 

I scribble tidbits of useless mind info- trash, treasure. 

Spend hours, at my leisure, like sharpened precise tweezers. 



Shifting through in the frame by frame

I walk the same path

I'll say the same lines

I do this every time

Do this every time



Dodging armpit stench aromatic

Wrapped up in my own self-induced stress panic

I think I am the only one in this shifting through



They'll collaborate in months against me.