A Piscean Funk

stack of mail unopened to even good news

and garden boxes ripe with weeds
laundry begging to be folded 
dishes pleading for their shelves
if Luka licks them are they clean enough?
I find comfort in those around me
with exit plans
shared a melancholy poem 
with no promise of hope
what I need is a witness
one with a sharp memory 
and a focused mind
someone whose eyes I trust
to tell me the truth
about my life
even bad news 
is better than doubt

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