Bedroom

I lay in bed wondering what to do to not think so much, I sit for hours at times, some days I come to the window and see who's passing by, when night starts to fall I could only look at paper store bags running down the street swept by the wind, what else is there? I hear the trees, I feel the breeze, please be anything but me, night and day looking thru others lives, my moments, my instance drifting slowly but surely here on my bed near my window where tomorrow another day repeats again ...