Autopilot

Some days, when I wake, there’s nothing upstairs, 
Some days I’m blank and bare,
Some days when I look at myself in the mirror, 
All I see is a dry empty stare.

And all I can do is what I do every day, 
Automate my morning routine,
Have a shave, wash my face, then get dressed for work, 
And do it all like a machine,

Through the whole morning, the same friendly words, 
Still no flash light up in my head,
Like a robotic pilot just doing my thing, 
While upstairs I feel like I’m dead.

Some days, in the morning, I can’t think for myself, 
Free will has left me alone,
Some days when I need soft velvety thoughts,
It feels like my mind’s turned to stone.

psychologicalworkquatrain

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