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Apr 2018
Do your hands move like the flame of a fire
Twitching and itching to possibly inquire
About the state that your mind has fled
About a fascination with being dead

Does your chest open up like a cave
Dripping cold, like a still-living grave
Can you shout inside and hear the echo
Is it your own voice telling you to let go

Do your legs hold you hostage from sleep
Do they move so your thoughts don't get deep
Or are they moving to make noise with the sheets
So your ears and midnight silence will never meet

Is your face more of a house but not a home
Something seeming foreign to what you've known
A room in which you sleep but isn't yours
Impossible to tell the ceiling from the floor

Does your heartbeat jump to conclusions just like mine
Or is it calm and slow and steady all the time
Does it leap into your head and cause a scene
Or is it glued to the cavern's walls without a dream
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