I laid on the carpeted floor of my bedroom
And stared at the ceiling,
Figuring out that there’s a difference
Between laying down with your eyes closed
And lying down with them open,
And then gravity started pulling me to the core of the Earth.

I curled up into a ball on my bed
And followed the blades of the fan in infinite circles,
Waiting for a dictator to come storming in
And force me to turn it off,
And then the imprint I leave when I slept
Started descending me into a world of creaky springs.

I slumped onto the couch into the corner of the armrest
And turned on the television,
Watching the images move across the screen,
And waiting for a point in the program
Where I could actually see them,
And then the cushions started sinking me between them to a point
Where even the remote hasn’t been.

I sat on the concrete steps in the front of my house
And closed my eyes for the first time in two weeks,
Running everything and nothing through my mind
Simultaneously,
A never-ending three-legged race
Through you, it, this, that, and the past,
And I stayed sitting where I was,
Nothing pulling me deeper,
Because I was sitting on something that
Matched the coldness and hardness of me.