When

When my eyes open
My mouth tastes like old.
I reach for the air;
Dragging blankets unfold.
The air hits the skin,
Body touches cold.
There is no retreat
Morning sun shines of gold.
To find a nice pair
of socks; to grow bold.
No day oppresses
The clock face foretold.
Small steps for a man;
The moon to behold.

-Blad the Impoeter