My mind wanders elsewhere, at times.
Drifting out to milky skies.
And the arguments against insanity fall through with a soft, shurring sound.
Up into that dark abyss.
Where the lights, they drift.
Ideas streaming in and out of consciousness.
Don’t sleep, don’t eat, reach for the stars.
While I drift, it shivers in my skin.
The cold hook of reality, trying to reel me in.
Tearing up the thin curtain.
That drapes between my psyche and realism.
Descending from my dark, high, secret space.
It takes some time.
A soft, shurring sound.