When times are hard and nights are long,
And clichés stalk the land,
I remind myself things could be worse,
And take my mind in hand.

I remind myself that things aren’t so bad,
That the fear that grips my soul,
Is merely the side-effect of some greasy meal,
Or over-spicy bowl.

And if I look into the eyes of friends,
And see an aching heart,
I’ll say they’re barking up the wrong tree:
That the world is fine (in parts).

If I wake up in the pre-dawn state,
And can’t return to sleep,
I’ll tell myself it’s from too much coffee,
And ignore the fear that creeps.

And on the days I’m seized in place,
By the horror of daily getting-by,
I’ll say it’s PMT, low-blood-sugar or something like,
And wait for it — or me — to die.