Requiem For A Thursday Morning

My dreams are arrested by vulgar morning
Shaking its ass in my face like a two dollar whore
Head and heart pounding, I try to fathom the violation that has just occurred
Breathlessly screaming my way into dawn’s first light
Have I been born, yet again, from Mother’s womb?
Or come to life within my own tomb?
What fresh Hell is this?!?
WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS?!!!?!!!?
Minutes pass and both eyes open
I reluctantly accept the truth of a new day
My breathing slows
My heart stops pounding
For it’s only morning
Where’s my coffee?!?

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