Laid back,
Head rested,
Staring,
Into the cream-coloured
nothingness that is my bedroom sky.
Thoughts hover,
Dreams linger,
Waiting,
Like limber limbs aching for a
stretch, a stride, a streak
Hoping to break free from the arduous
asphyxiation of ignorant monotony
Struggling helplessly to overcome
the strangling hand of bleak,
Failure.
Eyes open,
Mouth gasps,
Trying.
But nothing.
Nothing gets through.
The civil war between mind and
body has cost another day.
And the victor of this inaction
can only be the nation of procrastination.
Wordlessly reaping the fruits of
their squabbles.
Mocking.
Thoughts cry.
Dreams whimper.
The cream-coloured bedroom sky
grows darker to match the shade of its neighbours outside.
Drooping.
Head turns.
Hitting the sack.
Maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I will fight the
restlessness back.
