the air is always terrible in the mornings - i wake|
up with eyelids swollen around my bloodshot eyes and a
heart that's barely beating as the sun's beams slice up the sweet,
dark dreams that swim through my sleepy head in this cold, cold room.
my own saliva is acid in my mouth and i
feel it breaks my teeth apart slowly as i sleep - my own
stink is that of death and, when i realize the path the
day will take, the morning is murder: waking is the worst mistake.
but then i lay my head on your breast and i mouth your name
silently, as the radio alarm goes off one more time and the
voices of wacky morning dj's fill the room with laughter (
so loud and phony); you reach over to hit snooze - my eyes
hurt a little less and i'm awake enough to know i'll
soon hear your voice - it always tells me to listen: the music is (t)here.
Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien