a dull sky sets on a day that is easily forgotten,
a grind towards the standstill, another dud,
go with the grain,
polish the dust,
warm up the old metal,
and the cogs start turning again,
the day is gelatinous,
it is clogging up my sinuses,
the monotony is terrifying,
as another dull sky sets,
as another brain stem is clipped,
as I forget,
as all of these trimmings collect,
perhaps piling to something substantial,
climbing, ambling, aimlessly,
 I scramble up the side,
of this pyramid,
towards...

...perhaps,
all of this monotony,
that boils and freezes my blood,
that sets me sinking in quicksand,
that saps my soul of love,
is necessary,
perhaps each day is a tribute,
or a tributary,
to the ocean,
to a wave.