There must be an ocean on my head.
All I hear are crashing waves,
and distorted static of fabricated reality.
There’s sand on my bed
and a hole on my chest
leading to the driveway where I had left my thoughts.
I spent hours lying down, staring into space-
Only to realize the ceiling was in the way.
In the dark,
between the static noise of the TV
and the silence of the empty side of my bed,
deep underneath my drunken blood-shot eyes,
are the voices pounding in my skull,
hammering vivid thoughts,
painting pictures of your face.