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.
Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2018
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