My pen
The morning after the night before. Which is good, it means you’ve survived. Lived to tell the tale.
My tongue licks sawdust and cries out for coffee. I agree and duly oblige. My tongue cries out again when I put the steaming cup to my lips. I think of my plans for the coming day but nothing materialises. It seems too large a step from where I am now to where I should be later.
My mind is grey, a bit like the January day which sits heavy outside my window; even the birds are reluctant to make themselves heard over the nothing in the air. Everything is flat, except my tongue.
The day seems to be wrapped in cellophane and I am the Clingfilm Kid. Get off your horse and make a Western out of that.
I’ve no revolver but my pen works fine and that’s something to go on with.
My Words, My World 
“The morning after the night before… means youve survived” … i think this almost every morning. great piece
Thanks Lou, much appreciated.