My Gateway 2000

Its thirteen minutes passed ten
On a Wednesday night.
I forgot to turn the light switch on
And it's getting rather dark.

It loathes me as I
Disturb it of it's slumber.
It mocks me
With it's illuminated face.
Does it mean to torture me
With it's prolonged hum
And why does it mimic me as
I reflect upon my day?
Perhaps, I am too quick to judge.
Could it be,
That it awaits my arrival every night,
Hoping to hear of my pain and glory?
I may have mistaken it's speech for hatred.
I could have possibly misread it's countenance for envy.
Oh, how I misjudged it.
I was much too presumptuous.
Tomorrow night, I will greet it again
And I will assume the same once more.

Everyone has gone to bed.
I walk upstairs to my room
Where the Sand Man waits.
It's ten fifty-seven on a Wednesdad night.
Shutting down, goodbye.