The Ritual

i'm drawn
as i toothbrush
whats left of calcium depostis
towards tiny ants in the sinkhole
are you as lost as i?
what is this mission we are on, friends?

there is a mark on my forearm
a remnance of someone elses
compunction to distinguish
as a misguided bravery challenge

toothpaste is sweeter
than memories of drawn out nights
swigging timestretched pain away
circling a drain
in desperate need of cleaning

i bear the mirror and swilling
swiping peppermint
down and out

a voice inside somewhere
wants to know
if it can still shout
towards redundant recievers
long out of commission

tiny ants contrive
to further their circles
a seemingly infinite
temperal stasis

the moment passes
faucet to off position
plugged to deny
how this mornings potential appears
my well decide a simple day again