It's the first Monday in a while
When I can rest in Morpheus' arms a little longer,
And not face the reality that soon.
The blanket is a tough shell against the cold,
But colder than winter is having to live,
Facing the hardships without a rest for too long.
I'm tired,
And even words sound forced,
These lines are but a strenuous imitation,
Failed copy of something I used to do so easily.
Speaking my mind, I'm supposed to do that,
Yet I can't make up what my thoughts are,
I can't distinguish them from the noisy silence anymore.
