when things to do are done
the weird mocking endorphins bring some release
from the pressure
of the chaos
of the endless unmanageable maintenance
that the days stand or crumble on.
then there's a silence;
i have become marginally less pathetic than yesterday
when
tiny traumas exploding like dense planets in my skull
added essential kipple to the wretched lists
more small things
to do
and be done.
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