Decaf Scribble

aversion to a vicious tongue

i wake to find the blanket gone

my toes afraid, they fiddle there

at the end of a bed laid bare

to rise this moment would be harsh

and to my eyes, the light

the heart

i look up now, at ceiling stare

to wonder how I wandered here

the sky above said ceiling high

it rises still, with sun to fly

linger on in dizzied sleep

I find myself to be quite weak

a sleepy state of hateful sloth

my coffee, dear

you fade, you froth

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