Dead man laying on the bed
in the morning,
Dead man laying on the bed
half-asleep.

Rest doesn’t mean too much
for the weary;
sometimes struggle lies
in every measure of time ahead.

Countenance comes at a cost,
the clock a ticking meter
adding toleration to the tank;
habituates hooked on routine’s
stinging syringe,
undead shuffling through the mall
howling at their kids,
drains the tank dry,
no water in the well;
if you’re not mind-full
you’re mind-less.

So the body becomes too troubled
by the day ahead,
Corpse pose comes before waking;
it’s sometimes best to stay in bed.