every day my alarm

shakes me into a world

that is uncertain.

today strains to hold itself

between shadows,

and tomorrow is a rumor at best.

the headlines flicker

like faulty streetlights,

dimming, brightening,

while one voice

declares itself real.

certainty is scarce.

even the ground of loyalty

feels negotiated.

each hour reshapes the day,

but truth should be the fabric

of survival,

not mirrors bent

to fit the ego of chaos.

and still the fractures spread,

painted as lines

we’re told to follow.