She's become good friends with the ceiling.
Her mind cannot know peace;
it's on the run. Anxiety here,
stress there. "You can't escape us," they cackle.

She's become good friends with the ceiling.
The black space that separates
them is nothing new to her.
She blinks and the color remains.

She's become good friends with the ceiling.
Seconds, minutes, hours tick
above tired heavy eyes fixed.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.