Slice of Life.

Cold sunlight fills my 
room today. coffee 
from the night before 
stains the corners of 
my mouth and I 
remember to fold the 
laundry. I am not 
missed when I touch 
the same stained 
white linen shirt 
for an hour. But
someone said they 
thought they heard
me crying from the 
upstairs window. 
Its lunchtime, and all I 
have to eat are 
complaints about what 
someone else did. 
I feel as though I 
should pass the sugar, 
but that may cause alarm. 
I only touch what 
I am told. I only touch 
what I can control. I 
think about eating the 
dish soap as I show 
you the contents 
of my stomach 
and see the surprise 
on your face. 
I think its 
evening now. 
I lose track of 
everything now and then. 
So forgive me when I say
I don't remember 
your name, and which 
room of the house 
you stay in. 
Quit yelling at me 
when I'm face down 
in the baby's bath
Please quit assaulting
me with IVs
every time we
take unexpected trips
to the ER. 
I hate how cold hospitals 
feel. They make my 
nose runny. 
And that doctor needs
to stop telling me 
that I should go 
away for awhile. 
What does he mean anyway?
I'm watched for 
several days after. 
I think they like 
the way I do
the laundry now. 
I cleaned out my
drawer and I
fell in love
again with my 
station in life. 
Its evening again,
and I can't remember 
why I was crying
at all.