I go through hours and days and hours and days
they turn to weeks and weeks and weeks and then a month
and months
but everyday it's almost as if I have to drag my heart across the floor;
it's like that when you're in a place you know you don't belong
where you sense acutely that your time here is expiring
maybe you are expiring too - a goopy puddle long past its prime
I count from every week to weekend to weekend to weekend to
the end.