Please God No

No, please, no, please,
I stopped the anxious loop!

No, please, no, please,
I got up and was ready to go!

I went into the kitchen,
But the zombie was there,
Of course, as a further punishment,
Hideously smelling of alcohol and stale cigarettes¹,
The entire room smelling of it as I went to the bathroom,

It makes me feel sick,
It makes me disturbed,
It makes me angry having to hold back from beginning the day,
Hungry, foggy-minded, slow and frustrated and anxious,

I hate it!
I have such a burning inferno within me!

But fuck that!
And fuck them!
As soon as they are out of there,
I will begin what I wanted to do,

I’ll do pressups,
I’ll be energetic,
They will not beat me down! They cannot;

I slipped back out of my winning body-clock again,
Because I needed to sleep for 16 hours the other day—
I get into that routine of getting up in the night,
But then comes a day when for some reason I need loads of sleep,
And this Sertraline makes my body-clock weirdly, pleasantly,
Effortlessly malleable;

I just need more discipline with keeping it going,
Cannot let it slip again.

¹ That smell is up there with rotting meat, no exaggeration. It lingers in your nose.

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