I feel like a message I need to delete,
backspaces; wishing I could go back
Idling inside of my own head, before I start today

Sitting in the absence of a mind;
-a present state in all of it's empty rooms,
Empty thoughts of wasting time,
I'm lingering, having conversations with myself;
and its all sort of rude

Time starts to feel wet,
slipping through my fingertips
Days feeling like I'm waking up from a coffin,
dusting myself of yesterday's work and filth
A wet blanket trying to keep a warm conversation going;
still a bit thankful of where I'm going isn't leading me into nowhere
Planting an electric fence around my heart,
a warning sign in bold, "you wouldn't want to play here"

Eyes start to feel like a shade of curtains;
-their runners are bit too tired to chase the day ahead
An early morning fire with a lot of black smoke,
it's that grind of life; bitter sweet like a cup of coffee down a throat
Call me out as an exhaust of an old model Ford- exhausted
as today gave me a few mustang kisses, running horses to be
stable; I was unable to able, while my able was able to unable

                                 ....it's 5 o' clock, Monday morning. Crap!