When reality holds me, vice-like it
controls me,
I try to imagine I'm free of the bonds
like skimming stones on mill ponds
I skip,
stripping clear of some ego,
an ogre that only I know
I throw caution to the night and
take a trip through a limbo
that only I know.

Light flakes around me, like dandruff it
hounds me but it's part of the tour and
as the light dwindles it kindles another,
somewhere or other a butterfly dies.

My sanity slips out to scout up ahead,
better to be safe than be dead, although
I'm sure that will come in a tour for some
but not me.