mornings

I am tired, worn out.
My brain is as fried as my hair.
The cigarette smoke sticks to me like a bad memory.
The coffee is stale and cold..............Again.................
Why I pay for it, I don't know.
Maybe for the social aspect.
Yet, I sit here alone watching others stuff their face with grease and happiness.
My head rests on my hands.
I'm tired of keeping my eyes open.
My brow furrows together.
Weaving paths of worry.
Maybe I should say hello.