The Phone

I hear it ring, I just can’t get up. I turn back over to sleep. I turn on the radio, No voice I hear, I bury my head in the blanket deep. I look at the clock Red numbers stare at me and the guilt is a metal blade. My guilt runs high I must get up now, I pull up the covers and fade. The words from the radio are just background noise as I peek out from my hiding place. It rings again and I pull the blanket high, it’s safer to hide my face. It’s someone who wants or expects something of me, and I avoid talking at all cost. I’m told to pick it up from the friend who wants to help, yet my strength seems to be lost. To hear it ring and answer it with joy, would help me feel less alone. What I want today is such a simple thing; I just want to answer my phone.