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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