Top That
by Patrick Shortall
Getting out of bed is the biggest
achievement of my day
I quickly reach my peak and then slowly
fade away
I open up with greatness and I close
with infamy
the dark hours of the night, I hit my
lows
My energy is wasted simply trying to
move my head,
Every time I wake up I think I'd prefer
to be dead.
After my great achievement the rest of
the day is a waste
My waking days are spent looking for a
challenge to replace
The simple joy of starting a day, no
longer so simple.
Not even joyous, just anti-climactic,
delirious.
Instead of triumph, the hours stretch
out in front of me,
Like a range of mountains to be
traversed, an eternal fruitless quest.
The goals of life seems trivial when
compared with my desire
to diminish the struggle but increase
the glory of my morning mire
I strike before the iron is hot, before
it's even burning,
I envy that infernal clock, the hands
are always turning.
My secret struggle of every day, my
life's biggest achievement
If I'm to ever top it, I need to give
up
and asleep I stay.
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