The drifter

			Living,
			Flying,
			Away...
			Escaped,
			Free.

			My eyes open,
			A simple wooden chair 
			Sits in front of me -
			The stable structure
			Hits me with the hard physicalities
			That lie in the waking world...
			All that I have dreamed of
			So much harder - 
			So much more rewarding, 
			But so much harder...

			It pains me
			To know how much harder it is
			To get something done
			Than to drift 
			In a personal realm of wonder...
			How much reality
			Is reflected though?
			How much though
			Do I care
			Whether it is reflected truth or not?
			I lie in a false-happiness
			That is damaged each time my eyes open.

			Close again hurriedly -
			Half in pain,
			Half in sorrow
			For the surreality of my life.
			Refusing truth and life,
			Drifting in a false happiness:
			Peace overlying a rift of despair.