I caught myself thinking what a trap routine is. While going through it, you expect that one day the long-awaited moment will finally come. But a new day just begins. With each day, you’re closer to the grave than to your expectations. The days are all the same, yet different. One could go mad in this sameness… I wrote a poem on this topic.
Wake. Breathe. Pretend it’s new.
Same cold floor, same morning hue.
Walls close in with whispered lies,
Time repeats and never dies…
The days collapse without a trace,
Each thought returns to the same place.
I speak, but silence steals my voice,
Trapped in loops that weren’t my choice.
Was it Monday? Was it May?
Time dissolves in shades of gray.
Pages torn but left unread,
Silent cries that go unsaid.
Same worn path, a twisted place,
Madness wears a quiet grace.
But oh, the art within decay
To lose your mind the same old way.
Shadows lengthen, stretch, and blend,
No start, no finish, no clear end.
Caught between the then and now,
Fading fast, forgotten how…