I am floating on a cloud, made up of,
Something so soporific
My eye lids cannot stay open,
They are swollen from a lack of rest
My nostrils breathe in fatal,
Puffs of smoke and billowy carbon,
I tried resting my head in my hands, but all,
That is inside my skull snapped my finger bones,
Into tiny little pieces, now I depend,
On my neck to prop up my brain, that keeps
Teetering from one side to the other, my eye lids,
Falling, gracefully, carefully, like a dancer’s arm,
Yet they go up, quickly, straining to stay risen,
My eyelashes bat, and burn when friction hits,
I hear the song of high-heels in the hallway,
Click, click, click, the beat is now my lullaby, as is
The whistle of the jet overhead
It sounds far, yet it also sounds near,
Its desperate screams are the music to this sepulchral view,
Today, the sky is mundane, and a shade of depressing grey
The trees are naked, and cold, they shiver,
Like the nerves, prickling underneath my tired skin,
My eye lids close, and all has been ceased
The bell, immediately screams, only to revive it all again
