Evening with Side Effects

It’s early, but the eyes burn,
And the fingertips are cold,
And even the old futon

With its worn sheets and mismatched
Blankets might be a haven
For a few hours from living

The hard work of not dying,
Not tonight or tomorrow,
Anyway. Oh, tomorrow,

That will require more hard work.
Declare today over, done.
Don’t think of another one.