Waking up,
The ceiling's the first thing I see
Plain, white, boring as can be
Another day in my life begins, and
Already, I'm wishing for the end

I walk along no name streets
Faceless are the people I meet
What are we doing here?
I started to think
Why do I feel so incomplete?

Then and there,
I started to write
And wonder how something
Dull as black and white
Could bring so much color, so much life

But this isn't poetry
My sincerest apology
I'm a scribe
That's what I am
I only write what I can see

It isn't pretty being me
Seeing things quite differently
Everything is upside down
Something isn't likely
Right
With my retina