Sit all day, lie and close your eyes
As if the sun did not rise,
You simply snuggle deeper into your bed.
Comfort and warmth reaching deep
bringing to a simmer all fantasies
a steaming broth, concoction of lies.

Without thought, in utter disinterest,
You regard effort with contempt
As if yours was a clean silver slate
Handed down from above
Or was it because you had a good mind?
Too good for the task

There later came, as was bound to
The reckoning. account giving
Why was the day the only day you thought to awake?