It was a feeling.
Something that wrapped itself around me protectively,
cut me off from reality,
something that told me I wasn't real, I was too real, so real,
Not real in the least. Shit.
The lighting, it may have been.
The soft yellow glow of a lamp.
I wasn't here. I'm not sure where I've gone.
The door was closed, a dark wooden door, and
as long as that door was closed I was safe -
Wrapped, content, uneasy.
I was so fucking uneasy.
Why wasn't something there? I wasn't here,
To pass over into something new, step into something
Grand, hold onto something clever,
I'm a clever one, I am.
The ceiling fan vibrates the light, it's why I don't turn it on.
I close my eyes and I'm gone.