I stitched a moon to my ceiling last night,
watched it bleed clock-hands into the floor.
The curtains whispered in forgotten tongues-
One said,"Your shadow isn't yours anymore."

Thoughts floated by in glass teacups,
sipping themselves into vanishing fog.
My mind-a hallway with melting doors,
each knob a blinking,mechanical frog.

Time played chess with my reflection,
moving pieces shaped like screams.
I opened a book and out flew a stairwell,
leading to a room made of dreams.

I asked the silence for a map,
it handed me a fish made of thread.
I tied it to my ankle and drifted-
Upside down,inside my head.

There's comfort in this madness maze,
where logic sleeps and stars can sing.
In twisted thoughts,I find a truth-
Even nightmares have their wings.