lights and ceilings
I sat under the lights on my ceiling.
Some blue-tinged white lights that clung tight as to not fall from the sky.
What am I doing?
Staring at this bright white ceiling.
Those lights turned to shadows against the paint of the ceiling.
Seeing shapes come and go as my brain loses feeling.
Sat on my floor.
Waiting for some sound at my door.
Head leaned back.
Attached to the bed by way of my neck to the edge.
As the lights began their attack. Coming at me I think,
'isn't it supposed to be flat?'
I sat under the lights waiting for something.
A something of need and of wants but I'm still staring at a ceiling.
The roof seems to be dripping.
Its gooey, slimy, now falling away.
More light than before now talking without thinking,
"This is something new."
The sun is shining through?
It must have become day.
The reason now clear as to why I am here.
I sat under those lights.
Staring at shadows.
Waiting for this darkness to fall away, to disappear, much like that ceiling.
The darkness is falling.
Its time to move and get up.
There is no other way,
accept it, move on, get through the day.
But still, I'll sit, under those bright light blue lights again in the evening.