To play dissolution on repeat,
a record scratch on a life unwinding,
something like sorrow stains empty pages,
tinges potential with words tainted
in dead ends, sentences
how many faces have slipped beneath
these suffocating heat waves?
Figures writhe beneath blacktop,
outlines of hands lash outward,
and it feels like we’re all treading water
and it feels like I’m just treading water.