Those Days

Sit and stare,
Check your email twice,
Hope someone’s mind contains you,
Prove the real of your cries.

When days overgrow like the invasive brush,
Seeking to swallow order,
And leave Life’s labyrinth naked in glistening dead ends,
You hope to trim your lawn.
Oh! To create an exactly dead beauty, devoid of life and movement,
For neighbors to glance,
The impressive suburban art!

You can’t find the right look in the mirror,
Your heart flutters whenever others stare.
You wish it would just cease,
Like when traffic light ticks red
And all freezes,
While all spins on.

Records evaporate to leave no trace,
Memories to slowly disappear,
Real will forever be unclean.