Brume

Waking up & not sure of where.
Painful fog & the worse for wear.

Looking round for the source of bright.
Piss off sun; it should still be night! 

Late eve is where memory ends.
Stand up slow to avoid the bends.

Where’s my clothes & whose bed is this?
No one in sight; something’s amiss.

The mental mist clears for recall.
No more am I this man at all.

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lbstowe

I see the world through a Painter’s eyes and process it with a Poet's Heart....it's quite a harsh place for the soul. It scratches and wears your true self down, at times, but the Beauty is Addictive. I feel for everyone I encounter. Everyone I encounter is a teacher if I'll let them be. I Empathize with everyone I talk to & I Think about Everything-LEVi

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