Most Mornings

Most mornings I awake angry for no reason in particular.
Maybe it’s the dead space in the night
That uncalming settling after my brain stops and sleep sets in.
The time wasted.
So much space never filled, and my brain has reset.

Wasn’t there some anchor pulling at my thoughts just before the nothing?
Something miraculous that couldn’t wait before sleep came and stole it from me.

There isn’t enough time in the day.

In the witching hour my mind races.
I’ve learned to let it engulf me, and become lost in a sea of time, which seems to swirl endlessly.
Some nights, I’m barely able to tread its waters when sleep comes and pulls me under, down into the nocturnal depths of nothing.
Down in the deep, I’m drowning in thoughts never brought forth into fruition, and as I rub the crustaceans from my drowsy eyes-
I’m angry.

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