Held with some what miserable maybe moments, I sit.
Going through a hollow days motioning,
A vast pit.
Uncomfortable seat that it is.
An unsightly sensation in my mouth from a month before,
A year over, or more.
Even right to the eaten brown apple
core that sits up in front.
Slowly it goes,
The physicality of cold sweat
A personal bet, not kept.
No sweetness, no divine
A humming of cooling systems,
littered with just fine.