When it's bad
it's really bad.
I Sometimes wish
that I were out to sea,
the rocking of the ship
to comfort me.
The days they crawl by
with me waiting on night fall.
I sit in the relative quiet
of the kitchen and listen...
soft rain on the window,
the sump pump
in the basement
beating out a
chugging rhythm.
The clock, not digital,
becomes a metronome
ticking and tocking,
just hanging there
on the wall.
The pills I was taking,
they no longer work.
I drink absolutely no coffee
after my morning's cups
fearing the caffeine
will stay in my system
when it is once again
time to shut my lids
to try and drift away.
When what little sleep
I am granted is interrupted
by my mind saying;
am I sleeping,
am I dreaming?
Then I become conscious again
and I fight back tears
that slide down my temples
pooling in my ears.
Morning comes
and I pray that I
get through the day
without ripping someone
a new one.
Another day on edge, edgy,
distant in a strange but familiar way.
My face wearing my angst,
my back, hunched.
My eyes darting to the left,
to the right, up then down.
I feel so ****** tired
and I fear what will come
in the remains of the day.
Learning to live with things
as they are is taking more time
than I ever thought I had.