mornings

[lachaser33]

Why does it hurt so much? Or better – why does it linger,
Fermenting between the folds of my consciousness, resurrecting.
I wake up, slowly,
slowly to the unforgiving glare of a new day.
and it’s not just my shoulders
that feel discomfort
because the aircon has been turned too low
and there’s no hiding from it in my small room.
I stumble from my bed, where my body is sprawled
Diagonally. Because I’m Russian and I like to expropriate
all the spaces
that had once been yours.

I enjoyed the phrase "folds of my consciousness". I've never thought of consciousness in that way and I found it intriguing.
Like others have said "aircon" really doesn't fit in with the language of the poem and you should just say "air conditioning".

Overall I like the theme of the poem. I also enjoy how we don't find out why mornings are so painful until the end of the poem. Good work!