Friday
The clock on the television blinks but no
slower than my eyes. My eyelids are
so heavy; I'm so tired. What time
is it? Too late for a nap, too
early for bed. The only
thing left to do now is
blink and stare
and wait.
YOU ARE READING
Post Meridiem
PoetryI'd do anything to save myself. Hell, I'd even change the world.