i am tired, sleep eludes me with these tricky maneuvers
so now i can't interpret anything without this weary judgment
i can't read those words and decipher any truth or meaning
you really do confuse me, what a strange and wonderful enigma
at least i am writing again, even if all i can do is write, type
scrawled across my windows and in the cracks underneath my door
etched inside my aching mind, and flickering around damp eyes
optimism overrides the overwhelming doubt, am i wrong?
don't play silly fearful games, i've grown too tall for those
just leap: you might learn to fly.