I've actually gotten much worse it seems,
Since taking hold of other dreams,
You see,  my friend, I've gone quite mad,
Each hour...a dream I never had.
No, the sun is real, it always shows
See it or not, it comes and goes
Like me, of somewhat fickle lot
Perfect! All perfect! Until it's not.
By another's, or by my own hand,
Way too irrational to understand
And so my mind just flits around
Like cottonwood petals on the ground
And nothing is as it should be
Minutes filled so frantically
One dream recurs, (my guilty sin),
Two souls become just one again.