Restless nights melt into tired mornings,

and I realize another night has passed by sleeplessly.

The morning sunbeams creep into my closed blinds,

reminding me that there are things I should do,

and people I should call, places I should be...

The cat claws at my door,

ripping up the carpet just to say hello.

I don't want to answer her.

I would rather sleep through the day.

The television blares in my ears.

Screens preoccupy my mind,

and act as an escape from days and responsibility.

My eyes strain as the hours fade

from one to the next with no reminder

of the time I keep losing.

But the moments between these

preoccupations

leave me alone,

with myself, my dangerous thoughts.

I would rather keep the television on.

There is no food in my pantry.

The fridge is empty, save for a half-empty beer can

from a week ago that I don't want to throw out.

The two-block walk from my front door

to the corner store down the street

feels like a drenchwalk through a forest

with only myself to keep me company;

the promise of food at the end of the journey

never enough to satiate my mind.

I would rather not eat.

Fat fruitflies drift listlessly,

from the cup of coagulated milk

to the sink where rancid water

breathes from the drain;

they've made it their new nesting grounds

and I could use the company.

I would rather clean later.

There is a sort of clarity some days.

I find some sparks of who I ought to be

on the days where I leave the house

and see that I'm not the only one struggling.

When I talk to people and they tell me

about the responsibilities they once abandoned,

and when they tell me things will get better.

At the end of each day, I tell myself

I will be better tomorrow.