Only if the day

ends, will my mind

begin to blend,

merging colours

into pictures and pictures

into reality.

I speak these words

as if I understand,

as if I amount to anything

but what a fool!

I cannot win,

I cannot lose.

My brain is spilt 

in two;

one being hopeful

and two being unable.

Only if the night

ends, can my mind then

begin to mend

as each phase makes

less and less sense.

I own these words

but do I 

own a poor mind too?

I cannot say,

I musn’t say,

for all that’s said

is lost 

and for all that’s lost




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