it took four-twenty five and hours of unrest to write this poem
this is not an ode or a shout-out
yet merely a confession
a recollection
of nights spent staring up at the dull off-white sky of my ceiling as if I was bathing in moonlight or basking in sun gleam
I pop two bennys
four
six
As many as it takes until
I succumb
Laying lull and sedated
Captive to nothing but my unconscious