The eyes on the wall move my tongue

To the rhythm of

The anguish pressed

Between my ears.

A lack of common sense

Leaves my being

Twisted up in a bramblebush

Of inconvenience.

I’m a fish in a bowl

With the pressures of the world

Closing in on my

See-through shelter.

In a moon-colored room,

I walk over pillows

And cut my feet

On invisible needles.