Lying here, I am filled with a sense of dread,
For night is coming and I feel like the Walking Dead.
Anxiously sweating and thrashing about,
I can’t remember whether I let the cat in or out.
I am astonished by my “foggy” brain,
Remembering even the smallest things seems to be a strain.
I use the restroom several times a night,
As I see a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I catch a fright!
For it looks as though from the crypt I rose,
Or like a haunted creature chock full of woes.
I wake up in the morning haggard and without rest,
Menopause sure does stink,
To that I can attest!
In response to Sadje’s Keep it Alive prompt #4