Morning Half-Fail

Bread bites stiff, clinging

like last night’s regrets,

jam smeared half-hearted

on a cracked ceramic plate.

Coffee lukewarm, bitter breath

curling the edges of my lips,

sticky spoons clatter in chipped mugs—

a clumsy symphony of half-woken mornings.

Crumbs scatter—crumbs like broken promises,

a small disaster spread thin

across the kitchen table,

while my mind races too fast

for the slow drip of dawn.

Soggy toast, bitter sips—

a breakfast of barely started days

and all the empty calories

of trying to feel ready.