Morning
rips me
out
of
bed.
Beats
my body
senseless.
Weakly, I fight off the pillow of sleep that is suffocating me,
although I would rather be suffocated by sleep
than beaten
by morning.
I try not to listen to the beckoning of my bed.
It calls me from across the room, a siren song I almost cannot resist.
Then coffee,
my savior!
whistles to me from its teapot in the kitchen.
I come running to greet it,
the haunting allure of my bed
now
fading.
Coffee! I say.
My hero.