Predictable time
I'm getting super lazy at writting words
Why would I feel like doing art or
Even expressing myself in the middle of the day?
Or — god forbid! — in the afternoon!
Could you even picture that?
Me, doing things, while there's still sun in the sky
Even if considering that yesterday was a heavy rainy day
And the day before
So all we could see was dark gray coulds but
Still
In my favorite type of weather
Could you imagine me doing anything even?
Being awake and actually intending do move...
I can't even be faithful to myself about my decision to sleep.
Even less about starting activities.
But art
Art is everything
The only thing
If there was ever a thing to be
And as it seems I am an anxious vampire
Or at least a bat with serious sleep problems So
That's when it gets me
At 3
The only moment of the day
When I might possibly exist
Just a little bit
That sick heat
That feeds me,
A shaped darkness
Lost of sight,
So I can puke something shiny
For you to feed
Like it's gold
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