Something is wrong

My days are not the same
as they were
just weeks ago.
They are darker.
They are dimmer.
They are not
my days.
They are not the same.
My mornings are harder.
My comforter
does not comfort me.
It smothers me.
It makes these strange days
so much harder to begin.
And when I do extricate myself
from my downy prison
I am hours behind
an unfamiliar schedule.
The person I see
in the mirror
is not the person I know,
but it is the person
who leaves my house
and tackles the day.
I function.
I work.
I relate.
I meet deadlines.
But when I return home,
My nights are not the same.
They are darker.
They are dimmer.
They are not my nights.
They are not the nights
I have known.
I cannot rest.
I cannot relate.
I take a drink
and another
and another.
I pop pills.
I smoke.
I look around this house
I used to know
and try to feel
things I used to feel.
I cannot feel.
Something is wrong
and I don't know
what it is.