Do you?
Now that,
is something,
I wonder.
It’s surely so,
that I know,
of it all,
truth be,
not told.
There are moments,
that it keeps,
me up,
unable to,
sleep.
I toss,
I turn,
I twirl,
and this tattered,
torn blanket,
gets more rips,
as I spin,
myself,
to dreams.