The coffee it helps,
Quench this dull headache,
I’ve had now for numerous days.
Too many late nights,
Ales and tablets,
I’ve burnt up my turn of phrase.
You ruthlessly call me,
And tell me quite firmly,
That this time it really is it.
I press the red button,
Dig my head in the pillow,
As the message it slowly transmits.
In this strange room,
I don’t at all recognise,
All this clutter surrounding the bed.
It makes no more sense,
Than the apathy circling,
In the nest at the front of my head.
I’ll lay here all day,
Until this numb goes away,
And motivation returns to my bones.
The air here is stagnant,
It’s so hard to drift off,
When dragged back by one's slatternly clothes.