In the AM
Turning over to see the red digits of my unapologetically loud alarm clock and swiftly reaching out to stop it crying like a new born baby whose parents haven’t got a clue how to calm it from it’s unreachable state of distress.
Legs swung out of bed to meet the ground, followed solemnly by a hunched back with elbows pressed against my knees and a sorrowful clasp of my face, vision permitted by spaces between fingers.
Sat still in a drowsy state, struggling to keep my eyes open, I attempt to leave my body where it once lay unmaimed, dreaming of sweet nothingness, untouched by the mundane reality of life.
Managing to muster the energy to stand up and approach the bathroom in a darkened room with little to no light, you can see the red imprint of where my elbows had once anchored temporarily.
Like the first dip in a pool, the first step on to the stone cold bathroom tiles are a shock, then the step after and each one that follows grows more and more managable.
Hands grasping either side of the sink with my body lurched over the basin, I slowly lift my head up to see a head of hair that appears to have had a pair of hands run through it from each direction.
Shades of purple and black meet beneath the cover of the eyes, like an artist had taken his brush to my face with deft touches similating the actions of the human body suffering tiredness.
Brushing with great force the plaque that would otherwise suggest I’m an uncivilasied member of society away, my gums bleed and the sour taste runs out of my mouth as a reminder of the bitterness that awaits beyond the four walls I inhabit.
Yet again, the time slowly dawns to throw open my wardrobe; to pick a set of clothes that will only pick itself based on an idea of alleged indivudality and sense of personality that resides within, but that really tells the outside world I want to be like everyone else but this person being worn by these clothes.