After yet another restless sleepless night of pain, the old man drags his stiff breathless lifeless corpse out of a sunken bed of jagged rocky thorny steel, unable to yet see as the classical music plays he scrapes himself across the floor to prepare his coffee, as his hands tremble he pours in the water and counts the scoops of grind, fumbling he manages to plug in the percolator, as the coffee begins to perc he shuffles off to the toilet, where his bowels bellow out in a hungerous rage of pain, in the mirror gazing blankly into the abyss his hair and beard disheveled, struggling he slightly runs his brush through them and sighs no cares anyways, stumbling back to his bed he struggles to put on his socks and pants, he pours a cup of coffee and pulls on his coat, as he opens the door the dark frigid morning a stark reminder that as the world wakes not a single soul cares for the plight he is forced to endure each day;

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