welcome to this dream
I will spin you in c
                        es        ir
                          ­    cl
with me trying to fall asleep
melatonin completely absent from my veins
voices blur in messy paintings
(Goya total sense does make
compared to cinnamon gum
washing
the bitter sweet taste of someone away)
sirens scream too loudly
mesmerizing half of me
slowly spinning
                  spinning
(little me with a top on the porch in the summer sun)
except there's no sun
and this spinning cannot be stopped
life
too tangible now
and I suddenly need
cinnamon gum again.