Under the Afghan

I can't afford to pay electricity

for the light at the end of the tunnel.

Stumbling in the dark,

I find that my glass

is not half empty,

it's bone dry.

However,

the storm in my head never stops

with no sign of Noah anywhere.

Maybe I'm a unicorn.

The afghan that once

kept me warm at night

now suffocates me.

I can't remember how

fresh air feels in my lungs.

All I can do now is

hope that the sunlight

reaches the shadows of the tunnel,

and I can see enough

to climb out of the covers,

and make my escape.