I stumble out of bed
in the darkness of my hidey hole,
thirsty, arms outstretched,
trying not to think trying not to think
to stay asleep as I open the
door to my refridgerator,
its radiant electric light
showing me more
than I'm ready to see.
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7 comments:
At least you you know what you want to see, anyhow. I still haven't decided.
I don't want to see your hidey hole, I know that much.
I'll give you a hidey hole.
I think I wrote this poem 52% asleep. I am simply proud I was able to spell everything correctly.
Like refri(d)gerator.
I'm just being an ass. Sorry.
oh, that was an aesthetic decision, I was going for sound there, the sound of sleepiness. Totally.
Wonderful. You keep us on our toes.
I'd like to see the hidey hole.
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