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"July. White curtains..."

July. White curtains. Melancholy.
The stale air is hard to breathe.
Alone I sit and stare at Holly,
Who’s doing homework, while I grieve.
Two weeks remaining. Birds are chirping.
It’s four a.m. I’m counting sheep.
Is it my conscience-- so disturbing?
My eyes are red from lack of sleep.
Spread fingers hold the heavy Norton.
Her other hand is on her lips.
While I am left to die from boredom.
Outside, the pale sunrise creeps.
The sun will rise before we know it
This day will be consumed by time.
But, until then, let’s steal a moment
From lifeless verse and boring rhyme.
I strain my eyes from lack of sleep
July. White curtains. Melancholy.
Four twenty-five. I’m counting sheep
Alone I sit and stare at Holly.