The one where no one likes you and what’s the point and what kind of world is it?
And the walls are piled high with news, and maybe some of it is fake,
But mostly it’s real and insurmountable,
And even the facts become escalator steps running in the wrong direction.
And like any good dreamer of nightmares or some such,
I know I have to wait until I wake up again to maybe be standing by the edge again,
Reminding myself that the edge is nice,
There’s that apple tree providing shade and food, There’s that warm patch of green grass to lie in and if you look up you could be anywhere wonderful with skies that blue.
Anyway, the pit is getting smaller, isn’t it?
Surely, I won’t end up in there again tomorrow.
Who could waste time worrying about that on such a nice day?