3 November 2012
Spiced orange candles, Mp3 on loop, Stacks of coursework, hail storms, And a carton of cranberry juice.
Repeats on the television, Coffee, tea and rain, A bowl of noodles (if there's any left,) To ease this aching pain.
A crash around midday, I see, Within my future, from another night, Deprived of sleep, depraved, I laugh, And blur the edges with my sight.
Another set of meds before I hide again, Within my little coffin, Huddled up against my iPod, Opuss, midnight walks and then another bought of coughin'.
Today's Forecast • Opuss № I