Three Hours From Nine AM. By CpSingleton © 2016
I’m angry and hungry as I open my eyes.
Three hours will do that.
I want food!
I also want to smash in my own hissing head.
Level eight is not fun!
It could even be a nine.
It’s hard to differentiate when you feel like
An old coat,
Caught between the teeth of two
If I go capitulate to the man inside,
Who dearly wants to hide, and
Meditate myself back
Be back to square one! Just
A man on a bed in his head,
Wondering how the other half live.
Knowing there’s worse off is
Worry for them takes guilt’s hand and
Slumps heavily on top of my chest.
Three hours from nine in the morning
Usually does just that.