Poetry

The Fall, 3 (247.)

Nocturnal,
diurnal,
my habits make me wanna
burn all my bridges.
Not the bridges to people,
just the bridges that take me
from 7 AM to 3 PM
on a dream tram.
I never intend to shift my sleep schedule
so drastically,
and I’ve told everyone
I’m trying to fix it,
but honestly,
I can’t force myself awake
after just a few hours;
not anymore.
I’m getting older,
and my body
should be treated well.
I mean, I should
treat my body well.
I am so, so sorry I’ve become this vampiric mess.
Perhaps I should stay up all night and all day
so I simply have to go to bed
at a decent hour tomorrow.
But that, that would be
a Pyrrhic victory.

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