Patterns

 I think I read somewhere that patterns repeat themselves in the world, that there’s a limited amount 

The textbook had a picture of a seashell 

and I can’t remember if it was a math book

Or perhaps a science book

Maybe it was a sequence and not a pattern 

And perhaps it doesn’t matter at all

Because here I am again, alone in my bed

Writing poetry

While the sequence repeats 

Just with a different boy 

Before long I’ll turn the light off

And think of all the ways I could disprove this theory 

How I could unravel the pattern

Rip the dejavu from the seams 

And forget to listen for the sound of a knock at the door

That never comes 

And maybe just fall asleep