(no subject)
With each new dawn crashing through the shades I find the day that much longer than the next ... and so it is, here I am, stretched between the widening hours as the hands of the clock strikes my heart as if it were a drum. I forage the morning for distractions, and I’m acutely aware of the night still clinging to my back, and I fill the vacuum with my own scratches on paper because it is the mortar than mends and the pill that sets me momentarily right. Still, here it comes, this sunrise crawling our spinning globe, and how slow it turns and how slowly it burns as the minutes reluctantly tick forward.