Weary Mouse Dreams

A black backdrop of night,
the words drooping down the walls,
a perfect scene only broken by chaos,
the disappointment of a lingering sleep,
a timid wake up and tug from dreams,
the motion of sibling inviting me to rise.

It was an early morning,
to which I wished to pass unaware,
though my thoughts lay buried in pillow,
I could not excavate their site in my mind,
perhaps I thought it a game,
I need only apply myself and then win.

Stuck in automation,
staring at the virtual,
green card table in front of me,
the monitor for everything I do,
perhaps in a dream too far,
when being awake is so glaringly real.