Fragments of a Mind Obsessed with Tomorrow
Thoughts fall like ash
from a fire no one remembers starting.
Windows flicker in the skull—
each pane a version of a world
we never quite reached.
Time doesn't walk here.
It coils,
etching the same question
into stone
with a different wind each dusk.
We are silhouettes
rehearsing arrivals
beneath a sky that has forgotten
how to open.
Tomorrow drips
through the ceiling
like a code
we only half decode
before waking.