Just Another Day
The alarm blares with a banshee’s threat,
a shriek cutting flesh from dream’s retreat,
Coffee boiled to tar in a chipped mug—routine’s poison,
bitter and complete.Clothes wrinkled from sweat, last night’s stench,
knuckles cracked from fighting sleep,
Stumble into streets where air’s a fist—exhausted bodies chasing hours they’ll never
keep.Buses groan, packed with strangers all dying inside, nobody speaks a word,
The city chews them, spits them,
leaves their bones to rot unheard.Glass towers shimmer with hunger and promise,
neon light against broken teeth,
Vendors shout the price of time, cops choke on lies,
and children grind hope beneath their feet.
Elevators breathe hot panic, buttons smeared in the ghosts of sick hands,
ID badges swinging like nooses,
everybody praying someone else understands.Emails flood the gut, a digital rot,
tasks assigned like lashings in a cell,
Managers strut, eyes empty as caskets,
bark about “potential” no one can sell.Deadlines sprout like tumors,
paper walls threaten to collapse,
Office laughter, brittle and rehearsed,
hides wounds that never lapse.Behind every smile,
a tongue bit clean through—“I’m fine, thanks,
how are you?”—Nervous fingers tapping on cracked plastic,
pretending pain is something new.
The clock crawls, the hours gnash,
the sunlight dies against bulletproof glass,Every minute measured in microaggressions, every kindness rationed and passed.Lunch break means leftovers congealed and cold, gossip swapped like dirty cash,Half-hearted
jokes about leaving, but no one believes they’ll ever dash.Boss calls it “teamwork,” as eyes roll, resentment
boiling in unison—A thousand disappointments marching in circles,
productivity measured by attrition.
Rush hour, like a plague, pours bodies through turnstiles
and into the veins of the street,
Everyone dreaming of escape, no one believing their own
heartbeat.Tonight’s forecast: exhaustion with a side of unpaid bills,
Forgotten names, aching backs, and prescriptions for empty pills.Children screaming,
neighbors fighting, TV static numbs the scream,
Dinner from a box, memory from a screen, hope dying in a fevered dream.
And then—unannounced, uninvited—the sky fractures at five,
A surge of red bleeds over the buildings, every shadow writhes alive.Traffic halts,
jaws drop, phones raised, some cry apocalypse, some just stare,
A blood-soaked canvas above the city,
horror and beauty strangling the air.Old men mutter of prophecy,
teenagers post it for likes,
Mothers pray to invisible gods, drunks toast the end with cheap spikes.
Sirens wail, dogs cower, streetlights stutter and fail,
Children hide beneath tables, lovers clutch,
faces gone pale.Nobody’s certain what’s ending, nobody knows what’s begun,
Even cynics choke in awe beneath a dying sun.No bombs fall,
no voices rise—just that burn, that heat,
As the city holds its breath, a thousand hearts skip a beat.
Yet somewhere, a waitress clears tables and fakes a smile,
A janitor sweeps ashes into the same old pile.Bills remain unpaid,
the grind unbroken, the grief untouched,
For all the terror in the sky,
the world remains unchanged as such.The rich retreat behind walls,
the poor wonder if it matters,
Every habit clings on—until the final delusion shatters.
It’s just another day, or so the liars say—Under a sky that’s lost its mind,
as the world’s debts come to play.When horror becomes routine,
and routine curdles into dread,It’s just another day—until the day is dead.Red light washes through window
glass, strips the soul and stains the floor,No prophecy,
just consequence—the cost we never count anymore.
No one will write of heroism, no song for the ones who break,
Just the gnawing truth of the ordinary,
the panic we barely fake.Whatever waits in that crimson haze,
whatever ends or grows,
We punch the clock, we kiss the cheek,
and we hide what no one knows.If the sky demands a witness,
if the void insists on its due,
Let the record show: we endured, we complained,
we burned through.And when the silence follows,
when red turns black and the world won’t restart,
Let it be known: the last human act was to keep a numb, breaking heart.
Another day, another disaster dressed as routine,History’s horror disguised as a morning scene.Call it fate,
call it system error, call it too late to run—But when the world turned red,
nobody fought—nobody won.