The Sick Day Poem by Scott Schindler

Fought last night.
Nothing good said.
Hung up the phone.
Went to bed.

Woke up this morning,
Hungover from life.
Wished I was asleep.
Intruding sunlight.

Decided not
to go to school.
Hid and cowered,
under the wool.

Wondered what,
I would say,
to her about,
not going today.

Didn't know.
Didn't care.
Wouldn't tell her the truth.
The truth's become rare.

I guess i'll make up,
another excuse.
Man I miss,
my herbal abuse.