Hotel Room

Hotel room.
It's almost five p.m.

I ate a sandwich.
I went to the drug store.
I bought a coffee.
I wrote.

Nothing good.
I sit.
Turn the television on and off and on, the computer too.

My attention flickers.
My stomach churns.
The circles under my eyes widen.

What a fucking waste of time.
I should've studied more, or at all.
I should've drank less, or a lot more.

I'm reading a book that got good reviews from people I like.
Early Bird by Rodney Rothman.
But it's very average.

I shouldn't criticize.
It's hard to write anything.
See above.

I took two pills that a doctor gave me to make me feel better.
Pills.
I'm going to need more than that.

A new head.
Better ideas.

Don't look at lighted screens anymore.
There is something behind the lights.
I think there is something behind the lights.