Been afraid of myself, too long

Avoiding squares to be cool

Circles are where it’s at, although

What do I know, anymore

Any less would be a crime, against

The wall, blank, just begging for morning

Light to shine on something, anything

To stop me from thinking, about

What it means to be me and why I’m not

You are not able to understand, unless

You sit with me and talk about why we are not

An insomniac’s dream of dreaming

Lucid living out our days

Without ever having understood what it’s like to be ourselves.

Categories: Writing