Death In A Mug

You look like my grandma when she’s angry,

or perhaps only the mug conjures the image.

Am I killing neurons?

Are you, my friend,

murdering me gradually?

But thank you, really!

Feels like my eyelids are defying gravity

even at this hour; my mind

is still a thousand things but sluggish;

my body, still stuck in this chair

and not dragging me to bed.

I poured one last friend tonight,

and bathed him, and I may be drowning

in caffeine right now and yes, stop.

I’ll be missing bed tonight.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s