The clock on my old shelf reads 1:45 PM.
I gain a sudden acute awareness,
of the dismal state my head is in.
My window points to the west,
Light begins to glare back at me.
The reflection of midday glints bright,
Blinding me with extreme prejudice.
I wish the sun would just disappear.
Has it no concept,
Of the scourge that is Sunday night?
A profound whimsy, giving way to grief.
Grief over time wasted, Grief over how much I drank.
My veins yearn for more liquid gold.
Drinking? That reminds me.
I bend down to grab a water bottle,
Stashed "neatly" under my bed.
Relief floods the drudgery in my temples.
Still reeling, I sit up and pull back the drapes.
Maybe waking up so late has its perks.
The season is fall, the leaves have turned.
The trees hold endless variations on Red & Gold,
A brilliant contrast to the clear blue sky.
"Now, let's hope my classes were cancelled..."