Poetry

Chill Days, 11 (316.)

Night coffee sits in the pot again,
and some nights I go to bed at 4 AM
and some days I wake up at 8 anyway,
and I wonder why I drink so much
coffee all day,
then on the weekends I’ll sleep in
’til 1 or 2, that’s right,
the middle of the afternoon,
now it gets dark so early
I don’t know when evening comes,
but it rears its head
and hides the sun.

All this is to say
I’ve got bad habits
I’ve been meaning to change.

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