Some produce from sleep deprivation...

Eyelids fall and so do we
from this rope a wishful me,
No ground to touch, no cold hard floor
fully circle, no breaks, so sure.

Or is it warm?
Does it cushion the smash?
Cover sharp corners, prevent the thrash?
Then there's the harness
stopping it all,
Those big icey eyeballs
Keeping you cool

I don't want the harness
I just want the fa...

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I dreamt I killed, then buried deep,
The memories that slighly seeped,
Like pricking pins in eyes that saw
Me hurt, then kill, then hurt some more.

When I awoke I did not know,
If the cellar parts were true or faux,
My parts were there, sure,
Tacked to brick,
To prick,
To prick,
To prick.

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