I lay awake at night, dreaming of solemn things and wishful dreams.
I wish some of these would come to pass, but it seems my only reward is waking up facing glass. People stare at mirrors and wish for the better; for themselves or for the weather. I only wish for my wishes to come true, by day or by night I wish these things through.
My mind gets put to ease then blasted apart; I only hope my ambitions are not faint of heart. I seek for values which can be uncertain, but now all I see is my self-confined prison.
I want to be released from such a wretched thing, because I know I’m keeping myself at bay with my feelings. So let it be heard, and said; my life is controlled by my ill, but I wish it was willed by me, myself instead.