Eight oclock and nothing feels good
I am surrounded by thick mud
Pulling my feet into the ground
And making the longest walk
Even longer
My hands are not even my own
They are just pushing my way
Through each day
They unlock the door and
Brush my teeth so
That at least it looks like
I am fine
But I am not fine
I am tired as cold coffee
And I am falling fast
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment