Vacantly staring,
As the mind drifts into space,
Realising that this life,
Is not a race.

Seeing objects and faces,
That aren’t visibly showing,
The mind wanders to places,
Lights that aren’t there,
Are flashing and glowing.

Textures are not the same,
As other’s would feel,
Believing it’s normal,
Not a big deal.

The loudness of voices,
When no-one is there,
All seems so real,
Voices coming from somewhere,
Not knowing where.

Frightened of sleeping,
What will happen when eyes are closed?
Dreams are truly real,
This is not the life that I chose.