Another Graceless Night

I wake
Like a slug
Festering between sweaty sheets
Reaching for water
To revitalise the dead garden in my head.
I receive a glass, a lukewarm well
Of thickened liquid that tastes like old.

My legs struggle out of my sheets,
And I rise. My spine a rusty bike chain,
My head as secure on my neck as
The Leaning Tower.
I rise. And apologise

To myself,
My unmade bed, my unwashed clothes.
And I forgive.

Over and over and over.

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