Quiet Failures

For when productivity does not meet you halfway.

The day she didn’t finish everything,

The day that melted away like butter in the microwave,

Or ice in boiling water,

The day the slipped through the cracks between her fingers,

The day she fumbled with like a ball she couldn’t quite catch,

The day that covered her fingers in soapy water and ended up falling through,

Was a quiet failure.

 

A quiet failure, in strings of silent defeats,

The thread that weaved through her life, day to day,

Quiet failure to quiet failure,

Was enough to make a blanket,

Enough to suffocate her,

Oh, day to day, quiet failure to quiet failure, birth to death,

Body to coffin.

 

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know. 

At bedtime the monsters were let loose

In streams of artificial light between the blinds

And darkness like cheap velvet.  Night to night she dreamed,

And night to night she like awake, it didn’t matter which,

And the monsters would hiss into her ears,

They told stories of long-past deadlines and

Wasted opportunities and lives poorly lived, of

Quiet Failures-

The monster who live in our heads.  

Author's Note

I tried to make my metaphors really mundane to match the theme of the poem. Did this effect work, or should I do something more dramatic?
Side note: Any other kind of critique is welcomed. Thanks!