(untitled)

The walls, they're white
They're soft, they're filled
With feathers or with sleeping pills.
Their embrace holds me close in my sleep.

This jacket's tight,
It fits me well,
Like brimming cups of gold Nyquil,
Like fever dreams, my thoughts shiver and swell.


I don't think they mean to
Clean me out of you
But that's happens each time I come to.

I doubt they see
My clearing eyes,
My mind washed clean of cloying lies,
The world's bright hues dripping from my hands.

I doubt they mean
To see me healed,
Just keep the vapors tightly sealed.
I swear my voices aren't mad as they seem.

The burden of proof lays
On glass straws with thick stays
Tying me to your heart.

Still, fading through weeks
The succor dims.
The thin, clear tubes crack
At the mention of time going bye.

Perhaps I'm not clear as I thought.