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

Repeat performance—

Unsung to another human being.

Hope cuts itself on the barbed

Shadows I have grown to endure.