Today and tomorrow and tomorrow

Little things. Little things make me miserable. Little things that pile up and make an enormous mountain! Here is the poem I wrote in class today:

I am dead already
Not a sinew moves
Perhaps a twitch here and there
now and then
It's your golden finger
Your listless love
That presses shards
Into what's already dead
Let me free
From your flaccid arms.

Well, that's utterly unedited and really, I am never going to revisit that poem so the suckiness will stick. Anyway, it's a purely emotional jam. Nothing real maybe.