Mornings

It's always the hardest when I first get out of the bed.

The birds chirp anxiously, while the sky starts to glow a deathly-violet. I lie in my bed, watching the world go by, watching the parents busy themselves getting ready for yet another day of work.

Mornings are the worst because they may start off in any way. And if it starts off bad, it's just a slippery slope downhill from there. It's just superstition, but somehow on bad days one just ends up missing buses and trains, things just somehow go wrong, and it won't end until the next time I see the bed.

I'm afraid to make a move. One wrong move and I'll jinx the whole day into a bad day.

I run my hand along the back of my head, feeling the untidy tangle of hair, just to get some mechanical stimuli to comfort myself. I need strength.

Mornings, and I snap back into the real world and remember the mess that I am. Just numbly recollecting all the things undone, all the things I gotta fix, amidst the sleepy daze. I'm not sad or angry or anything, I'm just numb.

Feeling totally useless for being who I am, letting the things go undone, not being able to even get up from a silly bed.

I just lie in bed until these feelings pass, cause it'll be dangerous and silly of me to try to function that way.

Mornings are the worst.