You uniformly rise from your bed,
pleased to not be dead. Like others,
you line your body with threads, only
there’s sugar in your head.
Coffee abound for your daily grind—
—as it brews you open the blinds
to reveal that yesterday’s well-behind.
But sugar and fog plague your mind.
How do you remember aeons gone by
but not know if the dishes are dry?
The fog in your head’s been waiting to die but
not until its sugar reaches short supply.
You’re calm as a baby lamb
yet neurotic as a snapping clam.
You’re a girl with a plan but with the
patience of a delayed New York tram.
Excess sugar will not do, but still
no more agave for you. Splenda dreams
may get you through but a clearer mind
forever stays true.
-Christine Byczkiewicz
