Is this day one of the days that I’m contractually obliged to wake up?

Bound to peel my body from where it lays resting, warm and heavy in haze?

Is this hour one of the hours that I’m contractually obliged to wake up?

Resisting the rush of recollections that beyond my power will bring heavy clouds of responsibility raining down to drench my every cell on waking?

Is this second one of the seconds that I’m contractually obliged to wake up?

Tip toeing, arms stretched, in need of a breeze beckoning to tip me head first down the cliff face, so when I’m lain again at the bottom, burned and broken, it wasn’t just my choice?

For all the moments just before, when there is stillness and I am yet to remember who I am, who that is and all the things I have to do.
Remembering that I’m contractually obliged to follow through.
Pressing snooze.
Powerless, with everything to lose.