I groan in annoyance as the sunlight touched my eyes
My legs are too tired to move away from where this body lies
My brain are too tired to raise a single braincells
Though, what did I do the whole day? It is what I should tell
But would you accept if I did nothing at all?
And still laziness got me here as I fall?
This living sloth inside of me is consistently on roll
And the sloth feels nothing, moves nothing, and feels heavy and tired
So what should I do? Let my crash dreams be tied?
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
