On nights such as this, lovely painted nightlights
My soft petaled sheets become
Course on my brittle ankles
The unorganized pile of miscellaneous god knows what
(Does he?)
Transforms, hallucinogens point and laugh
Becoming bits of deities to serve as an alarm clock on a plate
Ticking my black hairs to grey
The cold air suffocates my toes and
Fills my shell with images of
Once laid here with the changing eyes that kept me quiet.

Sometimes, I wake up and search for your nonexistent space.