The whirring of the ceiling fan,
the morning glow of my room,
and a piercing pain in my abdomen
the moment I stand.
The shifting colors from yellow to blue,
the fullness of my water bottle,
and my lack of control over my thoughts
makes me a brute.
The sun rays reaching in the shelf,
the billowing curtains, the breeze,
and the horrific resentment reflectde
in the mirror when I look at myself.
A perennial river of whips, chains, and handcuffs,
my dream drowns, away from my reach:
swim, you bastard! Can you not work for it?
But my mind sucks me dry, as does a leech.