Idle
Collapse to the dusty floor of your head
It's musty in there and the air smells
Like something long dead.
Dream of waking on a sunny morning
With the warmth of the window wafting
Across your feather bed.
Kiss your love good morning as you sit up and breathe
And life courses through you in a way
It hasn't really in years.
Breathe, and then your body breaks
From the pressure of the image in your head
Sleep, until your body wakes
Rusty, tired, and underfed.
RATINGS BREAKDOWN
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excerpt from if icould write by
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