The ceiling is talking to me and its getting personal.
And  I'm not  sure if  I wanna get this close to something
that's above me and holding me in.

Tomorrow has already gone by,
but  I am not quite there yet,
when yesterday is still fogging up the clock,
I wonder why I am somewhere in the middle of a place
I can't seem to wash off.

The ceiling's crying now,
I can't seem to get anything straight
something  about the  chipped paint and where I punched a hole in the wall
and the words I stapled with the glow in dark stars  above my head.
I can't remember where I put my feet and why I can't see the stars.