Gathering up your days
into something that is meaningful
is at times an absolutely daunting task
at best
when the evening completes
your transformation into
a haggard shell of what you were
when you had awakened.

Your shoulders hang limp.
Sleep gravity threatens to floor you.
There are strange colourful shapes
floating in the corners of your eyes
and focus seems
out of the question.

You need to shut yourself down but
tomorrow will be the same
and there will be no sense of
forward movement.

That is unacceptable.

You were not put here
to give in
so you pick up where you left off
and you keep at it until the
sense of having actually
accomplished something
settles in because that
is who you are.

Sometimes all that you have left is fight.

Sleep is for the damned.

Anger is a gift.