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“Morning …Matt is it?”

I don’t feel any better this morning.
Cracking in my head, tense muscles laying still.
My bed looks no warmer with your gentle adorning
You sigh sweet splendor, cause’ you got your fill.

Wrestling with regret, repression fighting strong.
Last night was the past; I don’t deal with that.
Wine stains on the carpet, I knew it all along.
No time to rearrange the scuffled welcome mat.

Pacing on the wooden emptiness, my mind on the mend.
Oh, you’re only just another, nothing special, my friend.

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