poetry, Writing

Sick Day

I don’t feel like writing,

But here I’am writing again.

Thinking what a sad day.

I’m really not feeling well.

Maybe I’m just getting old.

But I have a cold,

or maybe a flu.

I never really knew,

The difference.

That is OK

It doesn’t matter anyway.

I just want the day

to be over.

So I can sit on my sofa,

Tea in my hand.

Do you understand.

I do not want to be here.

When that clock strikes 5

I’m out of here.

On my way home I will day dream,

Of a better place.

In rush hour traffic I wait,

Feeling kind of manic,

I’m almost home.

Once I get home

I will change out of these dirty clothes.

Make some soup

Oh yes I will,

This is what I have been waiting for.

Finally home now I sleep.

So tomorrow I can get up and repeat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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