Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2016
I wake up late
[it's always too late these days]
Yawn and the day yawns wide open,
whispers: "oh, but think of all the things you could do."
I don't much care for this life:
this boredom,
this suffering,
these atrocities,
but that whisper propels me up
like the shock of an alarm clock:

again, again, again.
Written by
Anjana Rao  Bawlmore, hon
(Bawlmore, hon)   
349
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems