I remember iron starched sheets,
sheets that must have smelled sweet
before being smothered
with the stain of morning breath.
Sheets filled with meaningless secrets
that we washed away dailty
because of the promise of tomorrow
and its own meaninglessness.
And then, I remember waiting
sitting on a velvet couch of denial
until suddenly everything in my life had meaning.
The breakfast bowl of kool-aid and cheerios
representing how event the different things
in life could indeed be sweet.
The stained wrinkled sheets
representing the past,
and each knife, the guilt of death.
And even though every ambulance siren
that broadcasts your surrender
fortells the end of meaninglessness,
I am still sitting on that couch
with a bowl of soggy cheerios,
and freshly pressed sheets
soon to be wrinkled from the complexity of time,
and stained from the tears of meaningful despair,
waiting for yesterday's tomorrow.
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Submission Name: Tomorrow
