Hour 19 Self Portrait

Its late

My portrait is bleary eyed

I look old

My hair is unruly

I am cross



I need sleep

I need rest

I need to be comatose

I am a computer

And a lamp

and a phone of video games

I have handed in my sanity

For two ibuprofen

And a bottle of water

Cat is restless

Husband is quiet

I am my own enemy now

These are the hours

The longest ones

Of the whole year

Counting down

Until my portrait is me

On my pillow

Sound asleep


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