Glow-in-the-dark stars decorate my ceiling.
They're the last thing I see before I sleep,
before my eyes finally give in
to the weight
of heavy air;
before my heartbeat quiets
and silence greets my sleeping self;
before my pillows engulf me
like the ocean swallows seashells.
The stars cling to dark purple walls
and loom above my head,
my eyes following their glowy trail,
up my walls and across my ceiling,
down to the floor and up again.
The edges are blurred,
their shapes are not-so-perfect,
the artificial, alien colors burn into my pupils;
So my eyes close,
but the stars stay still,
their cheap-drugstore legacy living well on
until morning.