a weekend vanishes in smoke,
what even happened? I cannot recollect

is sleep cyclic? an hour inducing yet
another, passing days in dreamy hazes

I think I did things — my calendar tells me so.
but the hours pass by in foggy mist.

perhaps I should talk to more people
perhaps I should read a book
perhaps I should write some poetry

but these things require so much effort

I may as well sleep