A ceiling of texture, ominous and cream
Four walls of difference surround me in a dream.
Songs from my memory lead my poetry
a ceiling of texture, keeps me in my dreams.

Five clocks stare, but only one has no hands.
Every one is different, but only one correctly stands.
Dimmed down and dangerous they watch  me, faces white
Five clocks stare with their fingers pointed, ******.

Strange, misshapen chairs, and a maimed and mangled cat
Nothing give me comfort, nothing gives me that.
I am out of place here, lost in my own head.
On a strange misshapen chair sits that creepy little cat.

Ticking clocks and memories surround me in a dream.
In a living room of senselessness I couldn't even scream.
So don't try to find me. I'm lost subconsciously.
Ticking clocks and memories haunt me eternally.