How can one be a winner,
When sunken in slumber?
In the morning sun’s light,
It’s rays do shine bright
When the birds do sing
As my alarm does ring.
Although I do know best
I should rise from my rest,
A lazy bastard am I
As I don’t even try,
A lazy bastard am I, for I do choose,
Every ninth minute for an hour, I do hit “snooze”

I wrote this poem last night, and I’m quite dissapointed with it. Why? Because it was sort of meant to be a jokey poem, but it came out quite GOOD, which is bad. When I say good, I mean as in it looks like I was taking myself seriously, but really I wasn’t. It was about 5am and I knew I wasn’t going to get up to the alarm on my phone as usual, but instead pressing that fucking snooze button every 9 minutes for an hour before I turned it off completely. And then waking up, seeing that it’s getting kind of dark out, that it’s now 3pm and calling myself something offensive for not getting up. My favourite is “Kunal, you dickhead”.
Maybe some time in the future I’ll get to torture children with this shit as poets have done to me in English classes all my life; and teachers force them to “analyse” the ‘poem’ for use of form, structure and hidden meanings that don’t exist or make any sense. And they’ll come up with all sorts of crap like

The writer was clearly making references to the bible with POWERFUL imagery of life and death and nature, the meaning being that one can not live a life without appreciating all that is around him, for if he doesn’t he is merely a corpse- who’s life has little meaning.

When really, it was just bullshit I wrote due to severe sleep deprivation. But then again, most poets were a bit screwed up like that and had addictions. Like Coleridge wrote poetry when he was on opium, that was his addiction. Mine is “snoozing” apparently.
But that was a pretty good analysis there as it isn’t that far from the truth; I might as well be dead with all this “rest in peace” I’m doing.