There are no good poems left for me to read;
I must think in prose.
My daily routine is not amusing or entertaining,
so I will sleep, and dream I am the kind of person that laughs.
The mirror disgusts me, but when I close my eyes, I am beautiful,
and clever, and kind - all of those things I thought I would be
before time revealed its true plan.
The sun relentlessly brings another day.
I long for the fantasies of night;
the warm covers of my bed.
I find acceptance only in the quiet of slumber
when I gladly surrender my conscious mind.
Of course I believe in God!
Otherwise there would be no hope for
the end to the suffering that life is.