Under A Grey Sky

where did I lose the ball?
when did my sight become so backwards
scattered mornings and frantic breakfasts
coffee black with two packs of shame
two broken eggs heated over fire
one long puzzled gaze
when did the ball even matter?
something to hold on to and pass on to someone
something to give me purpose and reason
when did those things matter?
there’s no one here so what’s the point
there’s no sun so why go to the beach
there’s no night so why go to sleep
there’s only me
scrambling around under a grey sky.

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