the early morning has a sense that can only be described as a gentle elegance. Or maybe a quiet purity. But that negates my first sentence, so fuck that noise.
the moisture in your tired eyes
sends light beams shooting dice their size
I like how recently every night of the weekend has been its own little adventure, full measures of success and failure. Which is good, because the weeks are long, and often epic defeats in terms of morale. So buck up, missy, because life is just a limbo of a stripped down sort of symbol and you only make it simple by pumping up the music and lowering the bar. Or is it raising the bar? The representation is a bit befuddled because tbe brain can't help but be muddled in the morning when the sun is missing and you've already missed most of the afternoon.
So get up offa that thang. shake it, you'll feel better. I promise. I heard it in a song.
I'm trying to write myself out of bed. Fairly ineffective. Better luck next time.
But I have things to do! I have to get around to hating the weekend for being mostly over already. For not being around when I needed it. But I suppose I fail to remember forgetting December. Because the weather's gotten warmer but the winter's just begun.
So hold out for some splendor, hold onto hope, keep your eyes peeled for the sun.
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