Sleepless Nights

November 9, 2017
By , Riggins , ID

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,
My mom would wake me to the cold,

Then with sleep fueled legs, I would stand.
Dressing in tattered clothes.

Never would I thank her.
Awake, blind with dark cold.

Dressed and ready, warming.
Slowly I would sleep where I stood.

Pain in cold stiff fists.

Staring half-lidded at the road,
Who would bring what I least desired.

Always so tired,
Always so tired.

My foolish mind’s tug-of-war.

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