There is no time like the present to be present,
past times are no times in which to be passing time
I walk past strangers who are pleasant in passing
presenting me with a conundrum.

I'm awake with a coffee
I was asleep
I keep waking and it's taking its toll

rolling a cigarette,
it eases my nerves
there is comfort in things that we know.

Work doesn't fall into the category
of comfort
although I go every day,
masochistic to the end
I defend my right to do so

I only start dressing to cover my depression
dark is the colour for me

see how Winter creeps in to thin out the herd,
but
I'll not go with the flow that tends to move slow
when the snow lays deep

I'll go back to sleep or to work.