The Static Between Stations
The Static Between Stations
Every morning I wake with the same numb ache, mouth full of old sleep and stale dread
Crawling through the gray fog of habit, where dreams are starved and routine is fed
I stare through the mirror, counting each crack, eyes dull as a screen with the color turned low
Pull on the same tired clothes, shuffle down the hall, wading through dust that refuses to go.The kettle hisses like the warning I never heed, toast burns and I let it, too spent to care
The coffee tastes like cardboard, the news is all static, I eat the silence, pretend I’m not there.In the car, I drive the same route I’ve driven for years, fingers locked at ten and two
Red lights and tail lights blur together, a parade of ghosts with nowhere new.I mouth the words to a song I forgot before it ended
Scan the faces in traffic for anyone pretending
But everyone’s a mannequin, blinking behind glass
Hiding in the hum of a life that just drags.I punch the clock with a hand that feels borrowed
Sit at a desk, type my name, watch hours get swallowed
Meetings and emails, all faces and chatter
I fake a laugh, make small talk, but none of it matters.Lunch is the same sandwich I barely taste
I scroll through headlines, swipe past faces I’ll never meet
Messages pile up—each one a pointless race
A thousand reminders of things I’ll never complete.Afternoon stretches on in a flickering light
I measure my worth in checkmarks and lists
Pretend I’m moving forward but nothing feels right
I go numb in my chair, disappear in the mist.I drive home in twilight, the radio stuck between stations
Can’t tell if I’m humming along or just faking sensation
I unlock the door, drop my bag by the stairs
Kick off my shoes, ignore the empty chairs.Dinner is microwaved, plastic on a cold plate
I chew with my mouth closed, like I’m hiding from fate
The TV blares nonsense, I let it all in
It’s easier than thinking, easier than letting real life begin.Night falls heavy, I strip off the day
Stare at the ceiling, let my mind drift away
Sleep comes in fits, a restless, blank shroud
I wake up tomorrow and join the same crowd.I keep breathing, keep moving, but nothing’s alive
Just a whisper, a shadow, a body that strivesTo feel something real through the static and gloom
But all that remains is the hum of this room.