mornings are the most exquisite
torture I endure.
I cough up the blood from the
war of last night
and greet the liquid sunlight
with bloodshot eyes
as the magnificent magentas
and the radiant oranges
form ripples in my retinas
until all I see is a whirlwind
of color.
passion & impulsivity stream in my
veins.
so I dislocate my tired joints
to reach the sky
and smear the glorious sunrise
unto myself
to cover up the congealed
blood
from unhealed wounds.
I scream to the heavens:
"make me something worth waking up to!"
