Some weeks pass as paper – crossed off day by day.

I’ve begun to feel the future as a countdown to ‘too late’.

It used to be different – there was something to look forward to

at the completion of inked slashes.

A trip – a birthday – the arrival of a visitor.

I forget to change the page anymore.

One day winds into the next –

a weekend not even two days.

“Where has the month gone?”

I hear this – I say nothing.

I’m agreeing in silent thought.

Where has it gone.

Where has the last year gone.

Waiting and crossing days off in my head.

Special days arrive unfulfilled

Mentally crossed off.

My trust and faith chipping away.

Jaded.

Used.

Exhausted.

Turning pages of a cowards calendar.