Still (The Treading)
Still I rise from the lonely and
daily familiarity of the cold abyss 
of my bed, even after dreaming of
the electric death of these endless
days waking and obsessively thinking
and feeling about how my life
has sorely changed—slowly killing
me, every moment passing more
torturous than the last moment 
that passed. The hell I’m in will not
move from me. This is where I have
to be, for it’s the good memories 
that constantly haunt me.