By An Ode to Creativity Blog - January 07, 2021



Head hits the pillow 
and check lists no longer
form on ceiling. 
Floor boards
no longer creak
under the pressure 
of being alive.

Then world was gone like 
a black hole swallowed it;
there's finally peace

But the alarm clock 
jolted you out of bed
and onto the battle ground. 
Revolver in hand, 
chambers full. 
Blindly shooting, 
you fill yourself with holes.

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