Mumblings to and fro
in a pattern pressed to life's mundanities,
routine as train track click clack,
fixed and timed,
no rhyme to
boulster waves of
stacked
up
questions
wondering
when you stop with time to ponder
how has life got here
how did the jig-saw puzzle of moments
redraw the picture
now coloured as if by another's hand
you can only ask 'is this what I have become?'

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