The guilt is spilling.
Uncertainty, unwillingly,
is leaving as we speak,

right now, reluctantly,
it’s showing its razor-like, sharp beak.

I haven’t been taking the pills I ought to take.
For over four mornings, it felt nearly impossible
for me to wake.

I fear this to be the reason my guilt spills,
which I presume will
cost me far more than four mournings
to pay off its seasoned bill.