On the morning after, I awoke,
Scratched, sat up, felt lonely.
Am I dead?
Or illusion?
Turned on the radio. (TOO LOUD!)
My head has had a long night.
"Keep your love alive", I hear.
But for what? I'm too tired.
You wake up.
What can you do?
Sleeping in a room.
Sleeping in a life.
On the morning after, I smoked
what was my last cigarette.
No more scared of cancer
than I was of
dying in the night.
Now I have you.
Do you want something from me?
Whatever it is, I won't give it.
Not interested.
Out of order.
On the morning after, here I am.
Doubting the corners
of the room.