Fathoms

You need me. You hate the sound of my voice, but deep down, you want me all the same. There’s no one else you can imagine by your side, night after night. You count on me to be more accurate with my numerals than you are with your checkbook. Heed me, and your day will go as planned. Ignore me, fight me, throw me against the wall, and your hedonism will enact its own punishment.

I see it in your heavy lidded eyes how much you wish to destroy me, but you should know, that if but one of my brethren failed to perform, then it could mean lives. As for you, my failure could mean your livelihood. It could mean a black cloud above your head for days or weeks. But as for me, success could mean a dented wall and a broken LED display, and then, where would you be?

Sympathy for an alarm clock.