In my dreams,
nights like these,
I always end up lost,
and I've given up on
whatever I was wandering for,
I just want to go home.
These days,
I spend all day at home,
wishing I had something to wander for.
Makes me wonder
if I'm a creature of beauty
in a life of pain,
or a creature of pain
in a life of beauty.
All I'm sure of is that,
serenity or fulfillment,
it's eluding.
Either way,
I'm in a row boat with no oars,
in the middle of the ocean,
and the horizon is my long-lost dream,
and my boat is the chair I
spend my waking life in,
and I am starving and sun burnt.
     -or-
I am my afflictive lack of dopamine
in the face of my most testing times,
like the challenge of
when I will put the bed sheets that have come off
back on the bed, or
whether I will dream a better dream tonight.
I hope it's vivid,
and prophetic
of a better tomorrow.