The sun comes up, the darkness fades and yet my eyes refuse to gaze. I dread the dawn, the start of day.
Mornings seem to bring a certain dismay.

It's not the birds or fresh air but the bleary-eyed, unkempt hair. The rush and hustle, the galling noise,
A symphony of the chaos I can't avoid.

I curse the sun, the light, the day,
As reality comes into stark display.

Perhaps it's me, or the world at large, but mornings feel like a constant barrage. So let me sleep, let me dream for nothings ever what it seems, but a dream within a dream.

Mornings...ew yuck.