I woke, a leaden blanket of dread,
Trapping my brain, muscles feel dead,
It was hard to talk, harder to move,
Six hours later, still waiting to improve.
Up high, where I want to be,
Like the clouds, I can be free,
Shedding drops in form of words,
Flying from my pen, punctuated birds.
Blur lines between fiction and fact,
Until my heart feels intact,
Poetry heals poisonous burns,
But will not settle my stomach, so on it churns.
It is a burden bringing this bleeding body from bed,
I ache, the heaviest part is my head,
It's too full of regret and shame,
I do not know why every day starts the same.
I always wake up on the wrong side of the bed.
