Where, Oh Where?

Where is the world at the hour of three,

when I wake from the pain,

and stumble for pills,

a knife in my brain?

Where go the children on a sunny bright day,

when I huddle in my bed,

shades drawn,

afraid to raise my head?

Where goes the client who dailed on the phone,

expecting the best of service for fee,

while I crouched on the cold white tiles,

heaving and bruising my knees?

Where goes the husband on Saturday night,

ready for dinner or dancing or play,

while I cling to my bathrobe

and push him away?

Where goes the victim of such a disease

when the doctors don't have any answers to give,

while the pain rules my world and

I stop wanting to live?