Hoarse

I set the intention to write something poetic today...something  impressive, but couldn't muster up the effort to produce such a drastic lie.

Poetry is about expressing one's feelings creatively, with rhythm and style, and what I feel today wants to go in a hole and hide.
Nothing poetic about that.
Just cold, harsh, facts.

Reality is REAL, and sometimes it's really fucked up and tiresome and sad and heavy and boring and though you still breathe, eat, sleep, and wake up to new days, the same old sun from the day before hangs over your head, and shines a light on what you want to forget.