These lines appear. Had I not so resolved
To write a sonnet daily, e'n it kill
Me, there'd be nothing here. So much involved
In fighting just to sit and look, I peer
Through veinous eyes at this far too-bright screen.
And that is just because I had a queer
And mightly upsetting, ugly dream
In which today became the one I failed.
The tinnitus still sounds, and I must pause
Between waves of harsh light, from which I've quailed,
And those of nausea, all of this caused,
No doubt, by my own faults. I estimate
Beyond what I can handle, seems, of late.