Another night awaits
for my limbs to dangle
from that swiveled chair
as mirages pace the halls.

Mirages?

Keeping my office at the brink of 84 degrees
to ensure my brisk, chilled heart
warms for the night.
Icicles form, coaxing my veins of merlot
into the most ultramarine,

before blackening to obsidian.

An obsidian frost
travels my body like highways
and interstates transporting
the most precious cargo from state to state
ensuring this country stays in good health.

My body is a country?

Veins like blackened highways of broken stone
and eyes like stars darkening to night.
Hair that sways in the sultry wind
while auburn tips lick the curve of my back,
like trees dancing in the night

tickling the grass.

Blink a few times,
I'm still in my swiveled chair,
swiveling and swaying,
forever in my swiveled chair
as the walls hum a silent, coaxing lullaby.
Where are the people within the walls?
I have forgotten,

there are no people within the walls.