In bed at one
Up by twelve,
Busy day no time to dwell.
Attempts to eat, chokes it down
This will make her mother proud.
Strips, into shower
Stands in warm silence for half an hour.
An urgent knock gets her out
Twelve fifty-five, this girl is devout,
To lie down. She thinks this is the answer
Slowly slipping into a mental cancer.
In bed at one
Up by twelve.
Written in a lackluster sense of being and mind. I just wanted to express how people fall into a slump, resulting in every day being exactly the same. One's life can easily be controlled and consumed by their own psychological state. However, we must break our slumps, forget our Netflix passwords, and abandon our sheets!
