Sitting at the kitchen table early this morning br He couldn’t remember when he first felt like he wanted to die br The thought of death had crept into his thoughts over the past few years br And like a hungry cockroach hiding under his fridge br He gradually started to take notice of death’s presence br Scurrying off with payloads of future plans br Fattening up on his vulnerabilities br Crumbs of joy would disappear along with his self worth br Dragged down into the dark holes and cracks of his bankrupted visions br He had become poisoned by a lack of intellectual hygiene br Death was his constant companion as his many cancers grew br And like the cockroach it was now entrenched in his psyche br And like the cockroach it was multiplying br Everyday there was only more of the same br Feelings of hopelessness br And only the sound of the refrigerator’s motor to help silence the little bastards demands… br br 2007 © T Sheridanbr br Ted Sheridanbr br