I have stared long enough at my ceiling that I confuse it with the back of my eyelids

I have named each of the tree branch textured constellations found there

My point is, I do not know how to talk about the rabbit hole without tumbling down it

If there were any paint left to dry, the blanks fired from my eyes would make for the most curious graffiti

The word restless comes to mind, but it erroneously implies that being asleep is the same thing as feeling comfortable when alone

I have fallen deep into the back of my head

My eyes, a distant stained glass window, casting the rainbow bridge back to where I need to be

This is the way