Feeling inhuman/inhumane.

There's desperation in the air,
beading on the windows and making
the curtains flutter.
Some kind of devlish bullshit
two-faced kismet brought me here
and has not left me,
for better or for worse,
with a thin blanket
and a pillow that makes me sneeze.
I kid myself sometimes,
visions of grandeur, of
utopian mornings and days
where the sun barely sets.
I am suspended in time,
between points in life
worth waking up for.