A morning in August.

Sunshine, little warmth, no clouds, no wind.

Coffee, without milk. Better than nothing.

The pills, all five of them.

Blood from the gums when washing

what remains of the teeth.

Deep, satisfying red in the sink.

Couldn't guess the blood cells aren't as they are supposed to be,

looks like fine blood.

A bird starts singing. Mind wanders to the milk,

the hot, black coffee on the tongue too sharp, harsh.

Wash the face, again, go out, walk

among the light and the shadows

of the morning in August.

10.08.2015