Dates drown beneath layers of black ink—

Dates drown beneath layers of black ink—

appointments clumped like ragged weeds,

notes running wild, frantic and cramped,

spilling over days like a flood that won’t stop.

The edges curl under the weight of too much,

deadlines crowd each other like desperate breaths.

I stare down the weeks, suffocated by scribbles,

a map of chaos pinned to the cold wall.

This calendar doesn’t mark time;

it strangles it,

a trap made of days I can’t outrun.