I feel tired
exhausted
worn.
I want to go to bed.
But I'd feel stupid
because it's not even 7.

I woke up in the hallway
this evening
after dinner.
My stomach was full
my eyelids were heavy
and I felt content.
So I accidentally fell asleep on the couch.

When I woke up
my shirt was inside-out
my hair was frizzy and stuck to my forehead
and a trail of blankets
were left behind me leading to the couch.

It was like I had been dragged,
that the little toe peering from under the covers
dared the devil to pull.
So I got up and went to my room.

And now I'm writing this poem
that doesn't really have any meaning
at all
other than
I'm tired.