To let monotony tire my heart
I wake up.
Instead, my existence is tired.
A search for meaning compels me
to pick up worry, confusion, frustration on the way.
At last, the meaning arrives in the form of a lie
My grey drizzly day ends with the quiet of my mind
It’s funny how sleeping makes me feel alive
and I don’t travel, to travel into
the world where I show myself vignettes that I ignore
Like an old photograph with rusted memories, dreaming sweeps me away from I
The absence of pain drives tedium of life to sleep
Until I’m pulled back to disremember.
To let monotony tire my heart
I wake up.

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