Can’t.

Can’t shake off the burning sting,

can’t scrub away the tub’s dirt ring,

can’t free up the congestive cling,

can’t give up or lay down for the terrible things;

can’t understand my lifespan of such cruelties,

can’t comprehend the game plan that’s ahead of me,

can’t find my way down from ledges: all crumbling,

can’t get my fingers to knock off the fumbling;

can’t see the end of the month of December,

can’t snap myself out of this fugue to remember,

can’t shake off the searing feeling,

can’t break through to do a Gods damned thing.