Sad.

I am sitting in a room that reminds me of a private-eye office from those forties noir movies.
And when I lay awake, at night;
and in the mornings when I can't muster the energy to look in a mirror and join my family and eat breakfast;
I imagine that it is.
I picture sad, downcast things,
a trenchcoat,
a handkerchief,
the sunny world outside that the room's inhabitant, who lives in the night, never sees.
People can hustle, bustle and be
happy,
but inside there is reality
a ceiling fan I follow around and around with my eyes.