By Ben Nardolilli
--
Waiting for a morning to remember,
the mornings that I’m waking up to now
are cold, and forgettable,
there are times I’m excited and I rise
like a gust of wind from the bed,
other times, I slide out of the sheets,
like a snake made out of lead,
heavy, bulbous, and unable to see clear
Afterwards, the struggles are the same
with no surprises in between,
doors open and close, trains come and go,
the coffee flows into the cup
and I sit at the same desk as always,
I’m sure I did it today, and yesterday…
to be honest, I can’t remember
anything other than how the days all rhyme
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