Why Not?

Why can’t I write when I’m bothered,

frazzled, vibrating from intensity?

The waters are cloudy, roiled, lacking

clarity, foggy, at least that’s clear.

The pain of getting things done, having 

continually to be getting things done is more

tedious and draining.

Survival is more a question; I wonder if

it’s worth it, like Berryman.

It’s just the mood I’m in.

It’s just that I can see why people kill themselves.

It all just gets to them.

Everyone has a breaking point, but life seems

to go on..”they tell me that it will kill me

but they won’t say when.”