Everyday I wake up,

I think to myself about  absolutely nothing,

From the earliest hours where the sun hasn't even shown a ray,

I rise thinking about absolutely nothing.

That peace I get from nothing,

That peace is sweet,

Sweeter than any kind of syrup that tops those belgian waffles I've been craving,

It's like being brain dead,

For once.

Now people might question "what's so good about being brain dead?',

"You know that's nothing to joke about.",

Well when you can't stop thinking,

And thinking,

And thinking,

Until you've reached the wee hours of the next day,

Mindless activity,

Caused by groggy sleep deprivation,

That holds my poor soul down,

You start to understand I am no where near joking.

Insomnia is not the only cause of my so called jokes,

Anxiety too kepts my mind active,

Every, 

Little,

Stop don't look at me,

Am I breathing weird,

Oh god what if they hate me,

I don't want to think about it,

Now I'm going to thing about it.

But hey I don't care if they like me or not,

I have learned that the approval from others wont lighten the burdens I call realities, 

Approval won't take away the queer that some protest,

Or be the cure to my depression,

It sure will not put me to sleep at a reasonable time.

Only those little moments in the wee hours of the morning,

That mindless few minutes of primitive brain activity,

Bring me back down to Earth,

Get me through my day,

Where I'm still searching for exactly who I am.