On a day like any other,
a young man wakes from a deep sleep,
staring dully at the ceiling high overhead,
wondering how this day will pass.
Will it be full of vibrant revelry,
with plastic smiles and apocryphal words,
or will it fade into the cold grey of normalcy?
Wondering just how his facade of perceptions
could have become so estranged from reality,
a wandering shell of tissue, blood and bone,
daring once again to simply hope.
Hope that this day will not be counted away
by the tick-tock of the ever marching clock,
hope that a specific one would share a smile,
that she would crack the never-ending facade
born in a past of darkness,
straining to live a life of light.
On this day, like any other,
that marks another year gone,
marching closer to the transition point
between this life and the next.