You are the reason I am tired.

This is the ugly time, the worried time,
The teary time. (I hate it)
My fingers itch and grope for the phone
As if I could take delight in your silence.
And if I do get your voice, you are

Put-upon, beset through no fault of your own.
You become the long-suffering.
And I make you tired.
You cannot understand
A woman wasting her time

Listing the lies you told her
Insisting you witness the moment she knows
Making you know that she is aware
That again you will not make it home
And she cannot sleep for your absence,

Although she is unspeakably tired.