One Forty Seven

1 am at night, I finished my work to out for a smoke.
I pondered my hard work, hoping this all isn't some joke.
Still though, I felt accomplished and more complete in a way.
By putting in my effort to this job, my effortlessness slipped away.
A sense of good, a sense of awake, a refreshing look on my face.
I sat in mid-serenity on the patio and surveyed around the place.
The trees, (I'll send a pic as soon as I can), stand out the in reds.
The burnt orange leaves, brown stems and branches, somehow dead.
Dead in a different way, dead in a sleeping winter, on this unusual day.
From thirty something degrees to seventy eight.
I smoked my next smoke, and felt awake.

The next smoke took my back inside my mind, to the lower thoughts.
When will I get that higher paying job and break out of this box?
When will I meet her, and who will she be?
How long will I chase her, will she love me?
What's up with this gut, what's up with this working out?
I made that plan and now I'm lazy and falling out?
When will my check come from the IRS refund?
What if I go into overdraft tomorrow again?
Will I succeed, will I be loved, will I eat good?
I feel today exactly as I should.