Sunday morning, taste of tar in my mouth.
A Coffee cup gasps with it\'s empty hole.

Soundproof bedsheets tumbles after warmth.
Fingers of light draws stripes on the floor.

The Echo from last night still clings between padded walls.
With a single nod it lingers, shadows untold.

Heaps of memories unattainable on a wooden chair
Awaken the contours mourns the fading flakes of colour...