Wednesday Morning.

Its quiet and the windows are glazed in heavy fog
Whispers sneak around hiding in the corners of the room
Click clack on the keyboard fingers keep straining
False light invasive on weighted creaking eyelids
But somehow its still dark, this silence in my head
My mind is still warm beneath the blanket of cloudy dreams
Like the fat belly of fog clogging up my thoughts
Outside the panel of a thick glass window
Dark bed, brain dead, beating me over the head
Fishing in pond waters of an unclean mind
Led bate sinking to the black murk muck
Drowning fast I think I’m sinking and I
Know I’m going under conscious slipping
Sleep sticking stacking bricks of blackness
Over the clarity of waking on a Wednesday morning.