LOOP

Five a.m.,
and an alarm that stretches on
for five more minutes,
which only manage to hinder
your already worn-out dream cycle—
the only place
where, if you are lucky,
you feel sheltered,
seen,
at peace,
and still alive.

You shower while trying
to make your left eye reach
the same size as the right.
You brush your teeth and wash your hair
with the dregs of shampoo and toothpaste
that have lasted for several months.
You calculate the round trip,
which adds up to around 150 minutes,
and prepare affirmations
to survive your working day,
phrases you read in a pirated book
but cannot bring yourself to say
naturally.

You are terrified to think
that your life is this morning
on a loop,
again and again,
the same thing every day,
starting all over.

You fail to notice the present
and the thought of the future unsettles you.
You keep telling yourself
that life is unfair to you,
but fair to me.

You compare yourself, diminish yourself,
sabotage yourself every day,
as though trying to find someone to blame
somewhere inside you,
hidden in some remote corner
of your body.

In the dark
there is confusion.
And although this morning
is just like yesterday’s
and the day before,
you trust that those five minutes
might perhaps take you,
one day,
somewhere gentler,
where silence and light
are companions,
where you wake
without an alarm.

Five oh-five
on the fifth of May,
and you decide that your life
is no longer a loop.
You snatch it away from yourself overnight
because you have
nothing to lose,
because you have
nothing.