Wake up, all night these eyes strained over pixelated sound,
Sleepy, crusty, like hermit crab claws I turn over socks and bras, and find
That I have no clean underwear.
So I start the day out stinking.
I have to go to work, but first
I read the news, find things to do on the internets,
And spit out prune pits with my breakfast.
I can’t stand the stale atmosphere, so I sort of exercise
But I have a bum knee, which is alarming at eighteen.
I sort of have a band now,
So we jam in the evenings,
We all sing but only one of us well.
My life sounds really boring when not in prose.
Bloglifted from the Daily Prompt, ya’ll.