butterflied flay of cloud
Rorschach blots
                  cricket white on nursery blue
skilled autopsy of the summer sky
i feel like raw skin having a plaster removed

My eyes flick over the textured ceiling,
connecting dots and making patterns
like some kind of giant Rorschach test.

I surrender to cliché and tell myself that
if I can just get through the night
that tomorrow will be different,
that everything will be fine in the morning,
but the dawn rarely brings salvation.

I close my eyes instead and listen
to the sounds of owls awakening,
asking questions that have no answers.

What do you see?
Dollops of dreams
Ink blotted on my retinas
As they escape me
Pulled in splashes
And dashes from my chest
Where they beat their wings
Restless.

What do you feel?
Weightless
Unreality, coloured
All psychedellic
And bleeding
Rainbows.
Flowing from the
Secret spaces of my soul.

Am I crazy?
Past all hazy.
My memory being lazy.
Is everything so black and white,
the difference between wrong or right.

You're a test of my sanity,
between dreams and reality.
I see butterfly wings,
rain clouds in may and other things.
The longer I stare, the further I tear.
You're here,
you're there,
you're everywhere.
Every blotch of ink makes me sink.
Every page of paper, another link.
Your smile,
your wink,
my addictive drink.
Bring me to the brink of insanity before I blink and I'm left inside my head to think.

What does it mean
If I dream
My pen leaked
Down my shirt pocket
Designing
A Rorschach heart?