The gagged voices
scuttling about,
in my living room they attempt to bicker.
The dim light flickers.
A shadow darts through them.
I carry on sleeping.

The voices open up,
traces of asylums fill in the gaps,
a trace of darkness grasps and
cloaks at life.

Desperately I fight for rest,
the asylum morphs
into a public square.

The voices start screaming,
skeletons dancing,
I run downstairs to find
shattered christmas tree ortements.
The shattered pieces form more beauty than
the ortements ever could have.

The skeletons impossibly loud, up in smoke
laughing watching me
mumbled gibberish,
to some and me
until I hear my voice in chorus.