I sit in the relative quiet of the kitchen
The rain plays a shuffle on the window pane
I hear the chugging rhythm
Of the sump pump in the basement
The pills I take no longer work
Coffee long gone from any habitual routine
A cup in the morning is all I will allow myself
The clock on the wall, not digital becomes a metronome
Jazz or Classical is all I will listen to as I prepare for bed
If when I sleep it is incomplete and broken and I awake
My tears roll down my cheek to pool in my ears
Another morning and I rise feeling tired and bitter
Sweet sweet slumber why can't I surrender to your wholesome rest
I pray I don't tear someone another
When I leave my home to face the world
Day after day divided by dark, I remain edgy and short tempered
Not suffering fools or the intelligent  gladly
In need of some kind of medication, a pill to curb my sarcasm
Some therapy to wipe away the insipid drudgery in facing Day after Day after Day after Day.