gravity, is a failing promise
he lies to me daily
I always awake on the ceiling

today, it’s to a violet static of sorts
enrapturing, an exhilaration
of speckled views
in drowsy twilight

the sparse light that creeps
through the window shades
limps on the ground
refusing to greet me
with a “good mornin’”
(aren’t they supposed to do that?)
instead it just lingers mockingly
with staleness

usually as minutes pass,
the light grows brighter
and strokes my face lovingly
with warmth

but it isn’t happening

day won’t seem to come today
and neither will the sun
for once in their daily war
I think the night might have won