Drain Day

The draining energy, sleepless eyes. I sat on a sofa, trying to listen to world and catch its phrases. But words no longer hold charm, my fingers are slipping from typing board. Eyes closed for seconds. Then reality comes back as a shock. For some seconds I was gone. Words return. I am awake. But the draining energy stands still. I am urging for a massage, a caress, a clean comfortable bed, a blanket.
Looking around to the sink, I find it full. Dirty plates. Dirty spoons. Dirty forks. Dirty glasses. Fouled-smell corner. Filthy sink. What a boring sight. Above me a kitchen rack, with words for cleanliness written on a sheet of paper. Words again no longer hold its charm. For reading doesn't mean doing. And consciousness refuses to embrace the meaning. Just a decoration. Such a child. Such a child. Words no longer holds its charm. It has gone to the drain.