Last night the ceiling crawled with ants,
a shifting black parade,
and screams locked in the fridge
hummed through the light it made.
My hands shake like leaves ripped loose
before a storm,
eyes twitching out signals
in shapes they can’t reform.
Sweat-soaked sheets,
drowning in a sea that won’t go still,
each night smears into day,
up trades places with downhill.
My name slipped out the window
with the early haze,
trapped in corridors
that loop through endless grays.
I’m fading out,
losing everything I’ve known.
The walls keep whispering
in a tone that’s overgrown.
Reality’s a thread too thin for me to grasp,
locked in withdrawal’s grip,
every breath a gasp.
Days or dreams? The line’s too blurred to tell,
caught in my own private version
of a burning hell.
Each tick of the clock hits
like a fist against my chest,
a test of what’s left standing,
a prayer dressed up as rest.
Forgot who I was once,
might forget it all again,
memories blowing past
like leaves caught in the wind.