Morning

In the morning, the day calls me, filled with dread, dark like coffee. Maybe I need a pickme up, or maybe I need to pick the pieces up. Here I lay, lost and confused, every thought and word is infused. Suicide seems like an easy out, but everyone thinks it's the easy way out. Grey and gloomy the skies above, Lord hear my cries down here above. Here is thought I paid my debts and dues, but she stands before me like a muse. In the morning, the day calls me, filled with dread, like coffee.