You stand from your bed and walk like you’re possessed,

You channel through walls like you’re a ghost,

Your Insomnia was a lie:

 

Skipping stairs you walk on roads, like some man Scotty,

Had beamed you there like your name was Kirk,

The Drugs were never real:

 

The sky tonight smells an awful lot like Captain Crunch,

The grass is bloody and stains your shoes blue,

Your senses are not obtuse:

 

You walk to that bench, that’s across that big red pond,

You sit there and stare at the dancing orange,

And nevermind the hues of blue:

 

Old light is like an ancient story that never gets old;

New light is debauchery and always dies young;

Impossible means you’d choose:

 

You let your brain pick at your mind like it’s a zombie,

You let your thoughts eat those thoughts you hold

Of others to free you,

 

Or to cage you, whichever, it’s too late now to even care:

Consumed inside yourself, you eat your cannibal:

Trickish colors fail to impress:

 

You stand up, you walk to that alley, toward that mailbox,

You imagine up a vicious dog is nearby stalking;

The paranoia blooms you sentient.