the cold
bites at my feet,
sharp and unrelenting.
the blanket's right there,
just by the bed,
but I'm sprawled out on the floor,
too damn lazy to reach for it.

I could move—
hell, I should—
but my body’s a traitor,
sinking into the grime
of my own apathy.
my mind’s a broken record,
spinning complaints on a loop,
but the flesh doesn’t listen.

it’s the same with this sadness,
this...