My eyes flick over the textured ceiling,
connecting dots and making patterns
like some kind of giant Rorschach test.

I surrender to cliché and tell myself that
if I can just get through the night
that tomorrow will be different,
that everything will be fine in the morning,
but the dawn rarely brings salvation.

I close my eyes instead and listen
to the sounds of owls awakening,
asking questions that have no answers.