the sun rose up half past noon
down goes the coffee through the trash chute
should he cook up some breakfast?
his brains are still scrambled eggs from the night before.
how he despises leaving his bed and facing the real world.
everything seems so much easier in REM sleep,
he prefers 3 AM to 3 PM.
nonetheless, he must venture on into the day.
oh what to wear? another shade of grey.
into his ear, the music goes.
if it weren’t for his earphones, he might have already ended all of his days.
his eye bags are full trash, just as the streets of Berkeley.
once again, he’s late to class and he’s not sure whether to show up at all if it’s not early.
does he really want this, this life of science and physics?
he contemplates it all in between his nicotine visits.
his mind flips back and forth
as he knows he doesn’t have much food left to feed his fork.
what’s for lunch? ramen.
what’s for dinner? ramen.
he’s tired of the uniformity.
i’m sure he’s already bored of me.
he hasn’t got much time to think,
fiddling in between studying and alcoholic drinks.
he really has no time at all,
he misses time sometimes but he knows time would never give him her all.
he must do with what he has.
straight to work right after class.
and what does he do after he comes home from work to his apartment?
stay up all night and continue to write poetry about how the mornings harm him.
but im asleep
im never really rested
but i’ll try again next week.