Asleep, Awake

In daydreams, I’m legless
or armless or free of some
feature that I can’t stand.

(I’m in jeans at the beach –
my book my shroud –
wondering why people
come here on purpose.)

In nightmares, I have
a nine-to-five, a husband, a kid.
There’s no relief from boredom.

(Breakfast in bed –
lunch and dinner too.
Did I speak today?
I forget.)

Depression is a blanket,
warm and smothering
and so damn routine.
I never could talk about it.

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