When the going gets
tough, I end up sleeping on
the couch, fully clothed.
Overworked
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When the going gets
tough, I end up sleeping on
the couch, fully clothed.
Turn the clocks back next
week? I could use that extra
hour of sleep right now…
Seductive silence
wraps me past midnight. I crave
the absence of sound.
At 6:30 they
awake to find I’m still up.
The curse of deadlines.
Can it be midnight?
I’m losing track of time, hours
misplaced like lost keys.
I’m writing during
the day. Quiet house, others
gone. The muse comes out.
Undereye circles
purple as grapes, lids heavy
as harvest-ripe vines.
Home from the party
they’re luminous like fireflies
settling down to sleep.
Switching to vampire
office hours. In bed past noon.
I write without light.
Anyone can see
she’s depressed. Crashed on the couch
sleeping beauty dreams.