It Has Never Done Me Wrong

I lay bare between two sheets.

The fog and haze are drifting, but still present.

Heavy sigh strains the lungs.

The dust is settling and floating upwards.

The sun pours in through a crack in the curtains.

It’s late, but still early.

The fibers of my hair are lined with grease,

and the crust in my eyes quickly fall away.

I am not ready for the world.

So, I embrace this life in a drunken stupor.

It has never done me wrong.

The foot steps grow into a hobble.

Friendships become hollow.

It has never done me wrong.

The circuitry of my brain diminish,

and the priorities are discriminate.

It has never done me wrong.

I am not old, but I’m not young.

Cigarettes lay smoldering in the yard.

It has never done me wrong.

Life hinges on these moments,

but there’s still tomorrow.

Because it has never done me wrong.