Sunday Morning Blues

Thick head, throbbing so,

I roll over and gaze at the world.

Sore jaw, impossible to chew,

last night, what the fuck did I do?

Tired eyes, the sleep is thick,

me and the sheets are sticky and wet.

The weather's cool, thank the universe,

I haven’t yet moved my mouth to converse.

It must be time for a joint,

(well, it must be 6pm somewhere in the world)

for my lifestyle, it’s right on point

I sit up, the room spins, 

that’s the way Sundays begin.

Time to visit a few blogs. Ha, ha, that's what we do when we're a hung over flog.