The clock reads 7:42
The sun peeks through the cracks in my window's cover
My room is full of burnt incense
My eyes are rimmed in red
Full of mystery and discovery
The CD skips
Skips again
And then dies
Like everything else

Maybe I read too much
Maybe I listen too less
Maybe I sing to terrible
Maybe I play not enough
Or maybe I just don't give a shit

There is suppose to be a moment
When one's desire is right in front of them
But my moment has been skipped
Like the song on my CD.

The telephone rings at 10:16
I wake up again
Not so rimmed and
A bit more nitid
The light through my window is higher
Illuminating my poster of Angelina Jolie
The incense smell is gone
I switch discs on my CD player
And answer the phone.

12/01/2002