Good Mourning

The sun touches on your face,

Such as a mother’s warm raising whisper.

The vibes of reggae in your heart.

Groggy, but no real rush to worry about it,

It will eventually fade like the overnight dew.

The thing that haunts me between the

Pleasantries of a perfect morning and

The oncoming nightmares, are the moments that

Are wide open for the world to crash all over again.

So, I’m going to take my time,

And forever in the bathroom,

And make eggs, bacon, and pancakes,

And French toast, fresh squeezed orange juice,

Because it’s all I can do to prolong

This perfect morning.

Heaven on earth ends after breakfast,

Then reality stops by and says hello when

The virtual paperboy soars more stories of horror.

More maple syrup please, I don’t need the

News today. But I begin to scroll anyways...

What? No. Not again. Damnit. What school?

Good mourning.