Every day
I wake up
Falling asleep
To the
lullaby of the present.

Archived in my mind.

As
Typical.

Stuck in a hope
That it'll be ok.

But I can't find the motivation
To try anything different
Than sleeping it off.

If I wasted my life
In search of one good dream
It would be as useless.

As trying
To stay
Awake.

Practising being dead
One absent unconsciousness
After the other.