Days used to be longer
and yet I can’t hold on to what they were,
from the sticky threads connecting them
to the breezes pushing them further away.
I wash my face, hoping for clarity
but my eyes keep falling closed.
The air isn’t empty anymore
and sometimes I forget to breathe.
Using my limbs as cautionary tales
while maneuvering sideways,
the music doesn’t seem right
though I can follow the cues.
How long should I follow?

Maybe it will be like this
after the end of all things,
a mosey along a lush narrow path
with a big view of the strange and beautiful.