Literature
Reflection of self
As I lay here I grow weary,
My vision has become bleary,
As though it had become teary,
I am leary, I am leary.
Afraid of what is inside me,
Oh dear whatever could it be,
And if I look what will I see,
What could it be, what could it be?
Oh will I become frightening,
Or possibly horrifying,
Why oh why am I transforming,
Or is it spring, or is it spring?
Is it spring that makes me worry?
Causing my hearbeat to hurry?
Maybe I should try some curry,
Call the jury, call the jury.
I have reached some conclusions,
Concerning all my delusions,
They are simply indecisions,
And illusions, and illusions.