and i never thought the ceiling i stare at each night was worth a poem because i'm sure you'd rather hear about the star splattered sky with it's infinite universes that envelop beating hearts and tear things apart just to make them novelties once more
but the white stucco above my head has constellations of it's own that have kept every secret i ever told on nights that i'd rather cut off my hands than write a single godforsaken word
maybe the ceiling is it's own kind of sky decorated with daydreams the clouds could never carry it's not poetic by the usual definitions
Staring at the ceiling in the dark A new world comes to life
Dancing shadows Like familiar silhouettes From memories once so dear Doing dips and pirouettes Entangling then seperate Few seeming so desperate Whilst others only bid adieu For not all is too Far gone, far down All things shall arise
Ribbons like smoke Or regrets chains that choke A serpent, slithering in the mind Plotting to seize control
A figure of shadow Creeping by the doorway Moving soundlessly across the ground To stop and stare At the one who dare Look back Into the eyes of a darkness.
brief echoes of the past arrange themselves in my present like shadow puppets on the backs of my eyelids while i sleep.
there is an uneven fulcrum digging into my lower back no matter how i turn my long body.
my eyes open into the same familiar room, with the same familiar speckles on the ceiling that they always do. the shadows resume their innumerable forms and i wake to write another step towards the beveled edge of immortality.
the sound cascading like rivers funny how it feels like it's surrounding me when the speaker is very clearly to the left
when the song ends the room is in an abrupt silence and the walls are farther and farther away the walls they grow taller and the ceiling rises into the sky for a minute i close my eyes and feel an overwhelming empty