The Disquiet


Mornings are the worst

The state between wakefulness and sleep

Eyes too heavy lidded to open

The mind all fuzzy

Thoughts all jumbled up

Its a struggle to get up

And stumble through the morning chores.

As I sit down with a cup of tea

To awake and rejuvenate

The anxiety refuses to leave.

I don’t know the source of this unease

But it keeps gnawing my entrails.

Going through the motions of a semblance of routine

Exhausts me to the core.

As I sit in a stupourous daze

Am unable to unravel my own mind’s maze.

Nothing gives pleasure

Voices grate my nerves

Company makes me fidgety

Music provides no solace.

I hate my own company

Willing my mind to go blank

Trying to keep at bay the clamouring thoughts.

Each passing hour thickens the miasmic anxiety

Increasing my listlessness agonisingly.

As I lie on the bed at night

I pray for oblivion to enfold me.

I surrender to nothingness,

Fatigued to the core, having achieved nothing fruitful

Till I can summon enough energy to grasp life



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