Are thieves ants ?
And are ants up on my pillow ?
Can't count all the trees
that villain up the wallpapers
Immurked
In silent non-light
A Percher weighs himself upon my chest
Fidgeting and hurting the spurring of my breath
I can't speak to he
Nor he to me
I've not made any friends here
I'm always the quiet one.
The tools of the drapes make-eye new fashion
I yawn in-breath the scenery
Til I'm replumbed a fear familiar
I've not taken note
And they'll be a cell toss in the sorrow light
And stern disused adults
With their 'on clockwork troubles'
I turn in this muffle scape
I'm feverless and struggling
In the ample warm bright shade
Capsized in an umbrella
Of an altered canopy nest
Lovingly bed laid
And to the falling
And fawn the ceiling
Well in for teething
Water floats the basin
Town in for weening
The coast of new morning
I gorm to life
Jump started and fit fused
From the perspective of a bad night of sleep. Told nonsensical to match the wax and wane of the dreamworld and the ‘Real’. Aspects of sleep paralysis and infiltration of the visual room in which the irrational slumber took face. Kind and fearful but more at comfort in which world ? All my strive used to be this way... t’was in days when I was less active against my disorder and pandered to its practice oft. Interesting results but impractical depression.