Three a.m.,
Friday morning,
Haunting, wake in bed.
Just like always,
Who could possibly satisfy the yearning,
when oranges and coffees are bad?

Sweaty fingers,
Burning toes,
Covers hide me, from their pointless lows,
My laughing while crying, moaning,
Yes, I do quite enjoy,
Misery-filled could, would shoulds.

Open one eye,
Too hard,
Close again,
Don’t move,
Not an inch,
Not surely or slowly,
No one shall me remove,
When they whisper words into your head,
Who knew, rock bottom, would be so exciting, tranquil and new?

Their footsteps gave up,
Knocking no more,
Pulling no more,
Begging no more,
For I broke their view of beauty,
When my moods were indeed moody.

Hello?
Now loud, unrestrained and clear.
Slow start, swift prance no more
Johnny’s holding me, forever and always,
Protecting me from,
All you *******, culpable cowards.