A Hard Life Too

                             I

A glass, a phone, a jar of jagged pills,
A napkin by the bedside for all those little spills,
Tired of scrolling,
I stare at the ceiling;
What might the day bring if I was bothered.

                             II

I like the night to pass beyond sleeping,
Remaining awake consoles the dreamless:
With nothing to lose
But a long pencil
And a white ceiling on which to scribble.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the ceiling is the paper...the pencil scribbles poems...imaginary poems..
the first stanza reminds me of Plath...
but overall the speaker seems decimated by age or disease and just does not want to go on.
What was it Emily D. said...."we have the power to kill, but not the power to die"---
another really good piece that has no reviews...shameful.
j.

[John]

Thanks. Happy to have one appreciative reader!