A new file flies in,
when one leaves the paper nest.
The stack remains tall.
Slivers of silver
slyly shines through my dark head--
it wails for respite.
Lines furrow across
my forehead, stressing my frowns.
Now, I hate mirrors.
Drag myself awake...
"What'cha do for a living?"
"whatever I can."
Drag myself awake...