I am useless in the mornings

Quite struck down by light of day

When wisdom slaps in silent warning

I simply don’t know what to say.

And I lay here quietly screaming

With these words around my mouth

Drowning in the terrifying feeling

That what needs to can’t come out.

In the nights it all wakes up though,

In those lucid, holy minutes

And the fight, however so slow,

I can’t quell when I begin it.

I will grasp you in your sleeping


To fend off the fucking dragons

To exhume the ghosts I’m keeping

But it never really happens.

I wage my war in the night then,

With my pen and glass of wine.

No need for help from sleeping men

Because the battle is all mine.

The rooster crows

Good morning shows

I’m out of verse and prose.

I’ll nestle in

No more fight to win

And it all begins again.

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