I Wake

I Wake

I wake to the cell phone alarm.
I know it's morning by the grey mist that fills the window square.
I think about where I work today,
think about growing older, roll over,
and if I'll ever replace this old mattress.
I remember unfinished details of a Saturday appointment,
and an x-husband I wish I'd never met,
in the time when life could have moved past
this void that calls such necessity of fifty.

I wonder what it is that leaves me in a state of mystery?
what it is that returns throughout the days
in clients voices, in unexpected expressions
that light the soul of everyday occurrence.
I feel sickened by uncertainty, mad by madness,
but happy at the same time, that I am
Inflicted by the deadened ends of hope
that sent me searching out angels,
rolling in the paint of miracles.

When I don't want to scream, I love this.
I love this euphoric dream, the rotted phantom
that promised to be my prince, and never came
just left me staring in the eyes of other victims
that cringe with symptoms of psychopathic fear.
I never got to understand, and now -
I don't want to leave this pain
because it's blooming, and I'm a child in the garden
picking flowers for my mother to draw.

I'm standing in front of the mirror
looking at my eyes. I wonder how fifty I look,
what I'll look like in another ten years.
I run a brush through my hair,
line my eyes, so at least - I look awake.
The smell of coffee warms the kitchen
sends it's last perk and spit before the alarm.
I open the cupboard and choose a cup.