As is the classic way of the internet, I went looking for one thing and found this poem. It seemed ridiculously appropriate, so I had to share it before going to be to stare at the demonic glow from my own bedside clock.



Alicia Suskin Ostriker 



But it’s really fear you want to talk about

and cannot find the words

so you jeer at yourself


you call yourself a coward

you wake at 2 a.m. thinking failure,

fool, unable to sleep, unable to sleep


buzzing away on your mattress with two pillows

and a quilt, they call them comforters,

which implies that comfort can be bought


and paid for, to help with the fear, the failure

your two walnut chests of drawers snicker, the bookshelves mourn

the art on the walls pities you, the man himself beside you


asleep smelling like mushrooms and moss is a comfort

but never enough, never, the ceiling fixture lightless

velvet drapes hiding the window


traffic noise like a vicious animal

on the loose somewhere out there—

you brag to friends you won’t mind death only dying


what a liar you are—

all the other fears, of rejection, of physical pain,

of losing your mind, of losing your eyes,


they are all part of this!

Pawprints of this! Hair snarls in your comb

this glowing clock the single light in the room


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