Morning’s sense of humour

I read,
seeing not believing,
in search of meaning,
myself reflected through stories,
my mind wonders and dreams.

I write in my diary,
not knowing what I think,
how I feel or what to say,
but words appear,
vicariously.

I walk,
but the woods offer no shelter.
Ghosts appear
to taunt me – humour me!
Self-indulgence is my sweet tooth.

The future exists at dawn,
and by dusk I see myself.
As I reflect in the mirror,
all I see are blemishes
that reveal nothing new.

I’ll dream tonight,
distorting memory,
and because of morning’s sense of humour,
I’ll never forget
where I am.

All the while never knowing
who I am.

Thoughts?

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