Laying on the bed,
Blood Rushing into the head,
Hitting corners to fall asleep,
Waking up from dreams in certainties.
Slowly, the wooden finish of the wall is dying,
It will come alive with branches catching hold of my lies,
For me, this place is home, when its rooted in my mind,
Darkroom, dwelling green leaves,
Destiny, pilling up dreams and fantasies.
I hold the bed, the bark of a lonely breeze,
A forest flying upon my needs,
Oh beautiful birds, they call me,
Symphonies dancing in silence,
The heart so numb as timeless.
I am alone here, with thoughts as lucid as space,
In my room, with bricks interstellar for the rain,
And soon the stars shall fall tonight,
So close to my numb heart,
Beating along its cardiac bundles of arrest,
Oh dear, a lucid space and rain,
As tempting, I grabed the bed sheet and returned again.
I opened my eyes to the bricks suffocating me and blocking my subconscious. I just had to sleep again, it will be stronger this time, the forest of my thoughts. It will be the second time I lose myself. I slammed the patch on my right hand, pushing it hard on my skin. Laid and waited for the angel of oblivion to decorate my metaphysics of presence.