some mornings are worse than others.

some days, i wake up
my lips chapped, nose running
my eyes bloodshot and red,
i stare at the blue paint on the walls
and the blue sheets on my bed

and it's impossible
to pick my tired head off the pillow

it's weighed down from dreams about you
and nightmares
where you're so angry that you grab me by my hair and throw me out of the moving car

my head is too heavy
to get out of bed


pull the covers over me
and cry
cry


cry


         cry until it goes away


sleeping next to you used to bring me comfort; now the blankets can't even keep me warm.