Perhaps not emotionally?
Looking for a perfection,
Perhaps will never get any?
The only antidote
Working away its magic
Is probably the
Hope of better, the high of dreams.
I look out and see the green,
Turn around and face the grey.
Ever wishing it was the other way round,
Still not praying night and day.
Then I think of all the other possibilities
In the glory of a good time,
In the hush of a bad past.
And finally when I’m woken up
I shiver and cry a little,
But then I gather up and return to-
My comfort of the sloppy, the alone, the pride, the NOTHING.