Morning Sentence Poem by Nic Miller

Black eyes with a touch of red
Sweaty bed and legs like lead
You've jobs to do by a certain time
You won't get up and that's a crime
Again your bed's become a prison
Whilst you drown in hedonism

The morning criminal strikes again

All motive absent from a pounding head
Don't want to rise wish you were dead
You've places to go people to meet
Yet every morning your white as a sheet
Day to night a funeral procession
Murdered by your hedonism

The morning killer strikes again

Every morning your the same
During the day you feel insane
Only drugs keep you on track
You've fallen off and got the sack
Derailed by your own obsession
A victim of your hedonism.