lackadaisical

a tired poem. part of a dictionary challenge that I did for a while.

lack·a·dai·si·cal

/ˌlakəˈdāzək(ə)l/

lacking enthusiasm and determination; carelessly lazy.

It’s 1 AM. 

A computer sits open on his bed. 

He isn’t sure what he’s doing, though. 

It’s a form of detachment. 

Vaguely, privately, he wonders why. 

He scrolls aimlessly through pages of text.

Half of the words don’t register in his brain, 

But he wants to feel something. 

It’s a listless attempt at emotion. 

He does not cry, or smile. 

He’s barely human. 

It’s 2 AM. 

He looks at photos of his old friends. 

He doesn’t want to see them again. 

Too much… everything. 

He left his past behind him for a fresh start, 

But everything’s too much the same. 

Nothing’s new. 

It’s tiring to adapt, anyway. 

It’s 3AM. 

His head hits the pillow. 

The next morning, he won’t want to get out of bed at all. 

Half-heartedly, he’ll try and dream. 

He’ll see a languid landscape, 

Grays and beiges and taupes. 

Nothing inspiring. 

It’s 4AM. 

Static fills his ears and his head. 

He thinks that he’s got a migraine. 

He won’t get it checked out, though. 

It doesn’t really matter. 

It’s 5AM. 

Maybe… he’ll just lay here, until the end of time. 

It’s not like anyone is expecting him to do anything. 

To be anything. 

Hell, he even forgot to do his math homework last night. 

He’s not going to do it now, though. 

It’s 6AM. 

He greets the world with a scowl on his face. 

His hands nimbly tie his shoes as he looks down. 

There’s nothing all that special about him, particularly. 

Just a sort of blank tiredness. 

He takes a sip from a plain black water bottle on his chipped white dresser. 

A sigh. 

He gets up. And then he leaves.