The will to do in a time of nothingness

I sleep up to 12 some days, I don't keep the count.

The hours are very convoluted and overlapped.

To muster the will to get out of bed and turn on the TV

or to take my dog to the backyard is a struggle.

I've been promising myself to read more,

to inform myself more, to learn, to study;

but when the handle falls at 11:59 PM

I find myself wondering where time went

and telling myself I'll do it in another day.

A day that never comes or a day that has gone by 

so many times already, put in the front of my brain

with all the headaches and the insomnia

and the clock that turns to 12 or 0;

a new start, a new beginning, a clear morning,

a nascent sun. Last week seems far away,

next month close somehow. I'm done with the deadlines.

The sun is radiant and the clouds are fresh

in days I'd love to spend outside where the air flows free.

Does time mean something anymore?

I feel trapped in a continuum with time as the days

when I have headaches and the days when I don't.

So easy to fall asleep on the contours of the calendar

and fall in the calendar's cardboard to an

infinite downfall compared only to the weight of a star.

Not even my mind works as it should anymore.

The food is bland, and repetitive, 

and I fear it may end some day. Surely a heavier day.

The fabric of the calendar is depressed already.

As of now, each day is a mirror of yesterday,

and I, a reflection of my memory.