Sitting at the kitchen table early this morning <br />He couldn’t remember when he first felt like he wanted to die <br />The thought of death had crept into his thoughts over the past few years <br />And like a hungry cockroach hiding under his fridge <br />He gradually started to take notice of death’s presence <br />Scurrying off with payloads of future plans <br />Fattening up on his vulnerabilities <br />Crumbs of joy would disappear along with his self worth <br />Dragged down into the dark holes and cracks of his bankrupted visions <br />He had become poisoned by a lack of intellectual hygiene <br />Death was his constant companion as his many cancers grew <br />And like the cockroach it was now entrenched in his psyche <br />And like the cockroach it was multiplying <br />Everyday there was only more of the same <br />Feelings of hopelessness <br />And only the sound of the refrigerator’s motor to help silence the little bastards demands… <br /> <br />2007 © T Sheridan<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/kitchen-talk/
