She lies awake at night

The ceiling her best friend

Her thoughts race in fright

At no point do they end

She's never sure about what she sees

Always wondering if her head is playing tricks

She longs for sweet scents and a cool breeze

But she only feels warm fronts and sharp pricks

She longs for art

Something of her own creation

There's a distance from her head to her heart

No way can she offer appreciation

One day she hopes

That her life will take the place of her dreams

For now she copes

With what is now and how things seem.