I stand naked.
Haven't had a drink in nine days now.
The morning is mine.
I could conquer the world.
Or catch up on TV from sheets.
O' how the vast choices lay.
In the hearts of modern me.
But at least I have the choice.
And the chutzpah.
Of pants and performing.
Or no pants and Netflix.
I am lucky to have this dilemma.
On a pointless Saturday.
Sober and seeing.
The curtains with the knife slides.
Whatever I do today.
I want to remember.
The skin of its teeth.
All to be had.
And all that's next.
As long as my dumb heart is beating me.
From inside my chest.