Wasted

Rivet pupils to the ceiling
Feint pale attempts into the deep
Fingers, toes are cracking feeling
Round blankets as I try to sleep

Bright flashing numbers on the stand
Reach flaky eyes that it’s past three
I flip the clock down with one hand
To silence its soft mockery

But seconds later, through the thin
blade edges of Venetian slats
Bright midday daylight pours right in;
The day’s all wasted, just like that.

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