GloPoWriMo Day Sixteen

A poem by my tiredness

Half a month already written

Down in words I may not read again. 

Now, as if midday had passed,

I feel the urge to take a nap. 

Only half a month ahead,

I remind myself. 

Do I really want Routine?

Am I swallowing a belief 

That this is what I want to be --

Written words no one may ever read?