Broken shafts of light

stab through the eyes.

Morning comes,

and I wake,

to lay with my crimes.

The feathers

of fallen angels

still tickle my mind,

as I lay here,

in the most

abandoned of times.

 

There is no more lonely

time than the dawn.

Awake with no other,

just another thing wrong.

Something is so broken,

I wish I’d hung on,

but she left me,

for another;

I wish I were strong.

 

The company

of the bottle,

the love of the pills.

The waking late,

can’t think straight,

hangover kills.

I’m too old, now

to do,

what I’ve done for a thrill.

So I stand up,

and I walk,

taking stock of my ills.

 

Morning

is an enemy,

that I have known.

Each day that I wake,

cuts to the bone.

There’s no more pain,

now that I suffer alone;

there is only struggle,

day after day,

until the day that I don’t.

 

 

HG – 2020