The Circle Twists Another Turn

The calendar turns another page Another sheet of days to make lame How rude of me it is to slice their face With two slashes of my pen Feel the days piling up And weighing down upon my back Pushing me into the ground Now I can feel them in my chest The circle twists another turn A hand spinning round my neck And every day it squeezes out A couple thousand more breaths Perfect karma, a perfect sonnet Moves up and down the page If I must state that year in a couple words Well, it was fucking gray That's gray Not great I guess it's fate I'm not late So to you, I make this toast And with these drinks, I celebrate Just a few more grueling years Till I can black out legally Voices rise and mute the time Now the clock has lost its meaning So it crumbles off the wall And falls into the ceiling But why should I even celebrate If every day just feels the same So many things float through my eyes Yet today feels just like yesterday So into this year I plan to plunge And maybe tear out a few more tongues Have that hand keep spinning round And squeezing hard upon my lungs Choke me And joke me I can see That can't be And as these bones fall out my flesh The Sun will rise and the Sun will set The clock's winding tourniquet Will make my brain a poetic mess More so than it already is