somehow the sleepless 3a.m.s always came
at better times. my head remembers sitting
but it can't quite place the sweating pillow
or the restless feeling in ones stomach
i can't see anything outside
for the utter lack of strength i can't
find the strength to close my eyes
downstairs is fitful coughing which
perhaps i'll join for lack of a better plan
prosecco decks the halls
clothes mingle with the perpetual lint, dirt,
assorted horrible things living on the floor
vague mentions of christmas and festivities
long ago which someone, somewhere doesn't
give a fuck about
No comments:
Post a Comment