My eyes flick over the textured ceiling,

connecting dots and making patterns

that morph into a giant Rorschach test.

I want to surrender to cliché

and tell myself that if

I can just get through the night

that tomorrow will be different,

that everything will be fine in the morning,

but I know that the dawn rarely brings salvation.

I close my eyes instead and listen

to the sounds of owls awakening,

asking questions that have no answers.