there’s a short stretch of time
before the sun comes up
that almost contains
the promise of something new
or at least
a chance for renewal

i’m torn really
because
mornings aren’t meant for working
for slaving over
unwanted souls
consoles
bankrolls
assholes
or fixed goals

with savage medications
and scenic machinations
we weep silently across dirty tiles
in search of that one safe haven

too much of this thing we call adulting
can kill you
slowly

i’m not lazy
just different

i’d rather get lost in the melody
sit with my cats
stare at a screen
drink coffee
type
smoke
read the news in my pajamas
and wait for a new
more durable adventure
to come