In the depths of the brain
There are swirls of imagination
And miles upon miles of truth
Where I feel blissfully content
In the subconscious
There aren’t lies
On top of lies
On top of lies
There are holes
Not unlike scattered geysers
Leading me deeper
And deeper
And deeper
Into the fibrous filling
Of a very scary place
Fictitious shadows from the past dance
And sometimes sing
Their position inside
All depends on the amount of callous characterization
Upon which I have spent
Hours upon
Days upon
Months upon
Years
The cortex of my spine
Will lead me back to reality
And remind me that within a place so deep do I roam
I feel truly
Blind.