These Morning Times

The mornings stretch,
Like endless vistas of nothingness,
Extending into infinity

Empty staleness wrapped in hopelessness,
Grainy and dry,
Like the taste of sand in my mouth

I sit in a daze,
Hoping for some external salvation,
Aching to break through this plateau I find myself in

Feeling myself on an icy desert,
Looking blindly, desperately for a crack to apply
myself onto

Here, time extends too lazily,
No action is possible,
Yet all the effort in the world is required

Drunk with the reality of stasis,
With the appearance of control

These morning times,
An illusion so real,
I lose myself in it