Discomfort

But, there are no endings, are there?
Only one more day,
one more day
and another
to drink the bitter draught down
Prometheus bound in this
hell you have made of me.

Discomfort is a word for polite
protracted visits from those
who come to poke the cage
sharp sticks and notepads;
documentation of a mad
dissent (decent?) or a foray
into mindless echolalia.

Yet, none can compare to your
hand on my cheek
with the word
goodbye
each morning.