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For #twistedopuss challenge It was 6.15 in the morning. The sun was already streaming through the curtains. Her nose began to twitch from the pollen from the field. God, she hated summer mornings.
Waking up and fidgeting. Rubbing my eye. And blowing my nose. Getting out of bed- a try. Head sunk in the deep pillow. Arms cradling a bear. Feet sweaty and sticky. I don't really care.
A poem with least punctuations allowing each of you to get a different idea of it . Woke up to a sun-set morning. Readied up for a cup of tea. Washed up, and each drop.
I look in the mirror, I do not smile, Getting ready this morning, Is gonna take a while, I run around like I'm under attack, A cuppa tea should take care of that.
Morning has come I'm feeling weak All I need is someone To give me a tweak I put the kettle on Boiling a brew Pouring the milk Sneezing a lot- achoo.
Waking up and thinking 'Saturday', Stretching in my bed, Lazy smile on my face, Contemplate the day ahead.
Waking up thus early, Cursing as I do, Wishing I could sleep more, Gaze at the alarm clock with rue.
My body seems to stall Without its wake up call I cannot see No bloody tea And that's no good at all A thing I really hate Is when the trolley's late Don't know about you I need a brew I really...
My duvets to heavy,. I can't get out of bed,. I went to sleep at twelve,. I've got such a sleepy head,. Birds chirp in the garden,. Black, brown and red,. I try to block them out,. Of my sleepy head,.
Sunday morning, Work is dawning. Not in the office at all, But the work phone does call. Up far too early like a berk, Need to take a temp to work.
TICKTOCK went the old wooden clock BEEP went the alarm as I woke with shock HUMM came the sound from the big White fan My eggs SIZZLED in the hot frying pan I grabbed the handle OUCH this is...
Waking up in mornings, After only four hours' sleep, A bundle of fur on the bed, A kitten in a heap.
6'o'clock every morning. I wake up. And start my yawning. My mouth is dry. And tastes like crap. I'm really not. A cheery chap. I have a fag. Or maybe three. Then I make. My first coffee. Achey bones.
Cradle me in your arms, Your cotton remains so smooth. Your folds envelope me with warmth, I never want to move.
Saturday, or Caturday As it's known in my house. Caturday morning I'll be sleeping quiet as a mouse.
It sends a little hum,. Right down to my bum,. Laced with milk and sugar,. It makes my morning quiver,. I slink out of bed -. To the kettle I head,. I silently hope I am not seen,.
I nibble on the piece of cabbage left for me from last night. When will I get to go out and play. She usually is up hours earlier.
Groggy from the night, I rise with utter delight. Time for tea and toast. A breakfast of which I can boast. Lightly buttered to perfection, The best morning confection. Snuggling into the seat.
I woke up to my irritant alarm clock for college. It was only half past six, but I have to be at school by eight o clock dead.
We have this battle every morning, Don't want to get up as I know it's dawning.
A co-ordinated 9am charge to the kettle in work. All of the dancers in need of their fix. Some on coffee, some on tea. Others have fruit brews which "have the same effect".
Something tugged at his hand. He took a look around, but it was all dark. He realized he was gripping something.
Truth Hurts Part Twenty Two -----------Lisa's Point Of View----------- *Chirp, chirp* I peered out the window. It was morning already. I looked back at Christopher, and saw him sleeping peacefully.
“Wake up. Wake up, or you’ll be late to school!” the voice said. Whose voice is this he thought. He didn’t have any time to interpret what exactly was happening, just the fact he was cold.