A looming gray slate
Just another date
On the calendar
Maybe I frowned or
Grimaced in hate
My self imposed fate

Computer screen flickers
I start to bicker
Haranguing at death
With liquor on my breath
No argument or dicker
Makes the reaper come quicker

Pain over comfort
La petite mort yogurt
Brings no satisfaction
Just a fraction of reaction
Accentuating the hurt
As the squirt hits the dirt.