I sit in bed and listen to the crickets chime
I can hear them through these wispy walls
they always know when I am thinking
or not thinking.

I sit in bed and listen to my own heartbeat
the pulses of a drug I require
necessary, yet distant
the faint stirring of mustang hooves.

I sit in bed and listen to the rustle
of the trees breathing against my window.
Their breaths fog the glass
as they laugh.

I sit in bed and listen to you tell me
that contrary to my own belief
I am not crazy.
But maybe you are.