a poem

You wake up in the morning
9 am,
a piece of lonely cloud above your eyes
you think it's telling you
not to look at her

You get up,
get going with your day
It's another day you don't know
"what is happening"
But why should it matter,
you are still walking in your dream

You always have that thought
of going for a run after work
but the dead of 9pm
doesn't really match your pulse

You're like,
"fine, I've got time tomorrow"
Then,
it's always weeks after when
you realize that
you have fund a routine successfully
you have figured out your pace
because the only thing that needs these two things
is a soulless body