Sour Coffee

Today is the last day,
Morning Afters,
Wallowing in shame.
Shushing my darlings.
Excusing immobility.

Today is the last day,
Feeling the weight of slumber.
Welcoming the syrupy melancholic.
Painting it into the picture frames.

Today is the last day,
The blinds will be closed.
The coffee runs sour.
The twitch in my eye.

Yesterday has failed me.
And the days run long.
Promises made each morning,
Broken by the dusk’s promise of relief.

But today is the last day,
The chant’s empty promise hovers
like the pinpricks of toxicity.

Today.

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