Sylvia Plattitudes

Lying in my bed, I gazed at the ceiling. A star's advice ran through my head: Don't let other people define you, You know yourself, no one else does. Lying flat on my stomach, I felt my feelings. Accustomed to the white noise of the dusty AC. Zealot to my own daydreaming, I lie to me. Awake, but only that. I wait for a savior. Redemption for my complaints, I speak in venoms; Ushering friends to a land of red tears. Styx and the Rolling Stones, the carry-on Charon. Average temperatures are 90 degrees Fahrenheit; When can I cease drinking air, like warm milk? All around my ceremonial bed: cats and guts. Kryptonite had the best of me and my Eulogies are sung by my dusty AC. Salvation brought by the alarm clock: just five more minutes.