Weak light filtering in
Like day old dishwater.
Hands fumble
As sleep crusted eyes
Fight the weight of recent dreams
To struggle awake.
A familiar staircase
Like a ****** terrain,
A precarious precipice.
And feet still
Slumbering in a distant place.
False light
Floods the senses,
Bringing fresh waves of pain
And Little birds chirp
Making a mockery of exhaustion.
Little birds chirping
Before morning coffee,
Suicide project