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