Sleep.
I am the most proficient of My Game
An itty bitty bird flew onto my window sill
He opened his beak and spoke of one request I must fufill
"I have been peering through your window pane" he chirped to me,
"Each morning you wake up only to pursue what the last eight hours have held, you must agree"
I turned my eyes into two blue slits and opened my pie-hole to the accuser
"Im no martyr, no cheater, no dream stealer, no abuser"
I spit out my best slew of wit and game to this little boy so mean.
"Nor am I proficient in the most romantic of languages but, boy, what I am good at I am a fucking machine."
The winged profit on my window cocked his little brown head,
"So, what is this thing you are the master of, hm, yeah, hm?" he said.
I proudly lowered my mess of black hair, wrapped my quilt up to my chin-y chin chin,
closed my eyes and drifted off to my world of dreams and cream and blue eyed boys with wide eyed grins.
