My gaze is drawn to the window,

But the blinds keep me from seeing.

I know the sun is shining,

But the clouds beg to differ.

My bed is where I lie,

Where reality drifts to dream,

And dreams can never be trusted.

My eyelids flutter quickly,

Bringing me from my dreams.

But was it really a dream?

In this bed, there's no way to tell.

But am I awake even now?

I try to sit up,

But then remember the accident.

It was like a bad dream,

But I know I'm awake.

And normally I'd be able to get up.

But he was drinking.

If only he hadn't been drinking...

But he was, and I can't.

This is how it is.