tired of poetry

I slept and I dreamed of being awake.

Then I woke, and dreamed of being alive.

I recalled what being awake used to mean, and I could no longer sleep.

The reverie was brilliant in its past.  

I yawned and settled back into my cocoon.  

When I awake again, my existence will cease.  

All this time, I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.