oh god oh god oh god

engraving my bones,

into my composite wooden desk.

the markings the same,

from centuries ago.

                            

my shoes etch shadows

into the tile beneath.

dark smudges,

along the porcelain relief.

             

stark, at my desk I remain.

telling my stories,

offering rebuttals, refrains.

humming about hope.

       

though i dont know the song.

its tune, easy enough to follow.

something bitter,

ripping at my tonsils.

        

spitting it out.

what i thought would be lost,

likes to look me in my face.

its eyes narrow and spiteful.

        

too close for even glasses to fit.

if it even had a nose for them to sit upon.

just a blob of hate and phlegm,

following, staring, saying i should take a sit

                       

and think about things.

at least for a while.

"tomorrow hasnt come yet,

smoke a cigarette."