on a work counter
under fluorescent light,
a simple reminder
of how it crumbles underfoot,
slides with the tide of apathy,
slippery,
slipping.
a living wake for my job,
that I still get up and go to.
a living wake for my family,
very much alive and breathing.
a living wake for my spirit,
fading fast with each passing of the day.
the sweetness of the cookie
tastes like a bitter pill
or a heavy load of syrup.
so I take the whole box
and give the mess away.
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