The bloody laugh

It was a sleepless morning.
A memoir from a listless night.
I'd felt the spring.
Funny.
I thought it a spring.
A jolt? Words?

I felt the need to rhyme.
Yet, I could find not my pen.
I felt a rebuke ride from my throat.
A writer without ink.
Yet,  on my bed laid an ink bottle filled to the brim.
Ink?
Where is the pen?

Like most mornings, the air had soured.
But determined, I was.
Though listless the night, it fed the morning jolt.
Yet book... Book.
Something had fled my memory.
No matter how long the search,
It hid in fright.

I felt anger besiege me.
Though not of thought,
My fingers clenched and veins popped.
Yet,  laughter possessed me.

I caught a face in the mirror.
She smirked mockingly.
Yet, tears glazed her eyes,
Threatening to fall.

But dared not.