Being himself since 1985

As the morning broke soft new light and the birds sang gentle and quiet, I lay there wondering about much and nothing at all. I tried to figure out how late or more so how early it was by the light illuminating the blinds and the crisp fresh taste of the morning air. This was something I was good at, something I had practised many times and became a second nature to me. It was five in the morning. A summers 5am, Brighter then it should be and too welcoming for someone who enjoyed knowing he survived another day. So I rose. I quickly put on my jeans and shoes that are always right beside my bed, always in the same place, with my keys, my wealth in the pockets ready to go. I could be dressed and gone in less then thirty seconds, Something I learned through the years, Always ready for what was bound to  happen sooner or later. Not this morning though, No boots running up the stairs, No flash lights in my face or disrespectful tone telling me to get dressed and but my hands behind my back. Which I always hated yet came with a certain sense of relief that promised another day, A day locked away and accused of many things I would never admit too nor pretend that I did not do, For the boots and lights were the arrested team of the local police force, Where as the silent approach were normally rival gangs or thugs who come to usher you into a slumber that you never awake from. The long sleep, I've always wondered if there is rest to be had in that sleep, Do you know you are gone? Do you know who you were and will never be again? Who knows the unknowing sleep. All I know is that I wanted to find out on my own terms, My own demise, nothing mad for me and delievered with hate or the cold feeling of a man whose there pure for his monetary reward