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