Why am i up to greet the sun?
Sleep is foreign,
folklore that I vaguely remember.
The sky is cold blue
and the ground is frozen and covered
by a veil of falling snow.
I am sitting in the dark of the room
the sun
blocked by clouds
meekly slips between venetian blinds
but all in vain;
the room is still a cave,
a den of lethargy and evaded sleep.
Maybe tomorrow it will be easier
to slumber,
when you are gone
for good and my mind can
stop spinning.
Or maybe next week.
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