Re-Repeat

The morning burns its way through needle-point tree tops,

squinting from behind frigid cloud cover.

I'm shivering seasonally, watching the next five days slip by until Christmas arrives.

Despite how things degrade, I do believe I will turn out alright.

I always do.

I take back roads, speed bumps, to avoid traffic lights.

Hashing and re-hashing hypothetical endings while muscle memory

drags me to where I need to be.

This all feels like something that's been done before --

but I suppose if I don't repeat myself, you won't understand.