The warping of the walls, fills my troubled mind with dread, For in the neon of the night, is the fear of being dead. The shaking of the floors, burns my mind beneath the sun, And the gunshot lodged inside me, was the race's starting gun. Now the air is caving in, and reality's a lie, So I jump off this mortal plane, and sink deep into the sky. Suddenly, in darkness, I lose all sense of control And in the place where I should be, is a tattered rainbow hole.
This poem was written after my first ego death experience.