What is it that makes me rebel?
Sit and stare in a hard metal chair with my narrowed eyes and yawning mouth and long-cold mug of tea
when up the stairs there's a fresh-sheet bed and a warm man waiting to embrace me?
It's something embedded. Core-festered. Wedged deep.
Dramatic words painting a
long stubborn streak.
I'm tired.
I'm foolish.
I need sleep
and peace-filled dreams.
Stop this whir click rattle.
Halt these thoughts that batter me. 2005-05-09
a.m. drain