In my dreams I levitate with ghosts
And in the mornings I want to die
Amidst the sheets and the empty glasses.
In the mornings I question my sanity.
In the evenings I put myself to bed,
Design a million ways to lie there—
I am mistress of my thoughts only.
Like a whipped dog I tremble
At the thought of life’s
Unsung to another human being.
Hope cuts itself on the barbed
Shadows I have grown to endure.