Sink

21 Apr

White pillows
Stacked on the bed
As the curtains moved
To a slow dance song
Whistled by the wind
I pressed my cheek
Against the softness
Of the pillow
And allowed my legs
To entwine itself
With the white sheets
Creating a canvas
For my musing
Painting the depth
Of my mind
Nothing anchored it
No one held it down
There was a lighthouse
At the top
But it was too far
Far from help
A boat rocked
On the choppy waters
Of imagination
Of doubt
“It’s going to sink!”
Whispered the air
Nothing
Nothing could be done
White pillows stacked
Building me a fortress
One push
And I fall deep
Into Alice’s hole

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