Merciless

February frosts my windowpane and my expression.

With a sullen glance at the clock on the wall, I can't help but wonder if the cold that has frozen everything outside has taken hold of time as well.

Winter has curled her slender, pale fingers around my world and won't relent her grip until her shift is over.

Will she ever take a year off?

Peeved.

There's a mountain in my kitchen.

It's made of plates and bowls.

It's overrun the sink and more...

including all our souls.

I'd swear the thing's alive,

a reproductive pile.

I've finally come unhinged at this,

my own customized trial.

You'd never guess that dishes

could irk a coed so...

but OCD is real, you see

and peaks when sinks o'erflow.

My eyes well up with tears.

My roomies just ignore it.

But when your life's in disarray,

you sometimes have to CHORE it!

Day two hundred and five:

My fingers have decayed.

It's hard to type with only stubs,

but it's a worthy trade.