there are days

there are nights

when the magic is gone

it’s smeared on your sweater like snot

glistening

drying

and you have to go to another meeting

and you don’t have time to change

and pretty soon you are that guy

who wears the same sweater

and says the same thing

and people look at you like a machine—

not a very good one,

but one that works.

Until,

one day

you hit the alarm

and it breaks

and you sleep in

and you change that sweater

and when you finally get to work

people look at you

almost as if,

you’re human.

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