Before 5am,

I rise,


my body does,

My brain refuses.

Waked up-ish,

My eyes are still to heavy to lift

For more than thirty

seconds at a  time.

An hour after entering the bathroom

I pulled myself into the kitchen,

Head swaying when thought swallowed me,

Back into semi-dreaming.

Energy didn’t burst through me,

It dribbled,

it dripped,

it meandered,

Even as I am awake enough to report,

I am also now awake enough

To appreciate the grace given by a Sunday morning.


Published by sickybeat

I am a writer with an extremely active imagination. I love learning answers to questions and what makes everything and everyone tick. I am a "Unique case, medically" if nothing else. I am flawed in my extreme aversion to failure (even when "success" isn't good for me,) but have come a long way in ditching the perfectionist mindset. I like people whose default setting toward others is compassion, an open mind, and honesty

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