The hum of the computer,

And keys typing at sporadic intervals.

My head hangs heavy.

I think of the weekend, of the fun, of the calm.

Of the many possibilities and the few that were taken.

 

Trying to think but not quite making it,

Trying to smile but not quite faking it.

 

The squeak of a door,

And the footsteps that tread seemingly quiet corridors.

My eyes feel dim.

I think of the time I meandered in bed.

Of the many spare dreams that I cannot count now.

 

Trying to think but not quite making it.

Trying to smile but not quite faking it.

 

The sigh of a man,

His voice feels like new.

My tongue feels foreign.

I think of the effort involved in its movement,

Of the many false words it will spit from itself.

 

Trying to think but not quite making it.

Trying to smile but not quite faking it.