There’s a monochord tune
stabbing my tympanum,
like a low frequency
in repeat, to annoy.
And the greyest of skies,
turning white with the night,
dazes from the window,
sledgehammering my head.

And the aches of the heart
reside in the absence
of cell phone vibration
from the right pocket of
favorite pair of jeans,
from times when we were teens
with dreams of growing up.

But, with new born adult
childhood remembrance thoughts,
we realized we lost
chances we had to live;
to enjoy in repeat,
when in repeat annoyed
ourselves with being tore,
by feeling really bored.