Bats fly quietly past my head
There's a commotion idly playing in the far distance
Under my moving bed

Two green tunnels open wide
My hands shift, separate and attach elsewhere
As I spiral down the ride

A soft coating of relief
I swell in and out of both hell and limbo
A razor blade motion to the throat

I give to my own reflection
A red smiling geyser with pin-sized eyes
Blue dread with little hope that sinks low

**The days get further as I swallow nothing
but lumps of dry, flakey air