Slow days like this.
Stayed up till the rising sun
wondering why it is you’ve gone and done
what you’ll wake up in the afternoon not remembering.
Regretting.
You’ve lost the morning,
you’ve lost the day,
and when you open the balcony door
the sun’s already halfway on its way.
Slow days like this.
They make you wonder why you came to this city.
Was it just to be hungover on days like this?
Just to feel your life drifting by
like a plastic bag in the wind,
never really doing what it is you want?
Maybe stop drinking.
Put out that cigarette.
Try sleeping when the little prince says goodnight,
and tucks himself in on the moon.
Wake with the birds dancing, the city yawning,
with the moms and pops, daughters and sons wiping sleep from their eyes
making their way
to wherever.
Slower days like that.
You might feel better.
Might do you some good.
But then you’ll be missing out on this.
On slow days like this.
