An Apology of Sorts

The days are long, but sometimes good.
If I could sleep I surely would,
But sometimes nights do what they will,
And without recourse to some pill

I sit in here, and type away,
And wait the coming of the day:
The hours at work I’ve yet to spend,
While wondering if the day will ever end.

The night is long, but could be worse.
I’ve hours now, to craft some verse,
And leave it out here on WordPress
For others to sort out the mess

That is my schizophrenic tone.
But it is mine, and mine alone:
My pathos or hysteria
The function of the depth of my

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