the moon
                 is no longer
                                     a bright
                                                  silver  ­
                                                           sphere
                                                                ­       in the sky
rather a muddy brown circle
                                                  at the bottom of my coffee cup
while stars
                   that used to
                                       dance
                                                  throughout the heavens
instead play behind
                                    the lids
                                                 of my
tired
bloodshot
eyes
       and
            dawns first light brings
                                                     not
                                                      joy,
nor hope,
nor relief
but stings
                 the nerves and
                                           ushers forth

regret

            at a night's lost rest
                                              on edge from minutes
of sleep my
                     weary mind wonders




*why oh why does it have to be finals week?