10 hjours in

nought remains of night, noteven a moonbeam.
coughing wearily wishing i still drank coffee
even my dog’s twitching paws tell me to hush
he snores tauntingly through my mental fog.
my caffeineless brain tips whiskey in my canteen
something sweet’s happening— oh good golly damn
instead of becoming more fleet, it sets concrete.
i need more wood to stoke the mental fir(e)
i’ve burnt the books, now start on the shelf.
all i want is for my head & pillow to dock.

 

 

 

 

 

NB tired typo deliberately left in title, haha