My Prometheus

Terror comes early for you,
Gliding through the small hours, talons poised.

Finds you wading through muck,
A stony wasteland of half-sleep,
Skin gravel-grazed from crawling
across stretch after empty stretch of wretched earth.

Smells the animal desperation on your skin;
Pituitary burning and adrenal gland thumping
sharp trills of fear and confusion
into your exhausted veins.

Circles as you clutch at normality,
At straws, at cold showers - anything
to get airborne again.

As if you have been doomed
to be annihilated anew each day,
Before my very eyes.