I’m surrounded by a dream,

it has highlights of every truth,

some I’d rather avoid,

but then, thank God, 

it’s only a nightmare.

I compare it to my mornings,

exploring afternoons and evenings.

My life in a petri dish,

always under a scope.

My own eyes study alone,

replaying quiet moments,

when often I might reflect upon

mistakes that define my life.

When I might, whenever I can

awaken inside my own mind,

It’s then I’ll know 

my surreal world.

It’s only my own.