First Few Hours

     It's always those first few hours of the day that hit me the hardest. Those first few hours spent alone in bed, just my putrid mind and I with no distractions whatsoever. I wish we got along better, my mind and I. I wish we could agree with each other for once. I wish he would stop making believe things. I wish I didn't believe in anything at all. My psyche is a soft clay, shaped and molded by every thought ran through it and it's current form is a grotesque, obscene, and disgusting display. I can cover it up all I want but those first few hours of the day will always be spent face to face with it, staring into its ugly visage, waiting to shove it under the bed away from everyone else.