Mid-day Absinthe thoughts
These walls, this chair.
The space around, filled with air
How do I fall from here?
Which way is out
Which way is the way to the way I came in?
Is it the way out?
Is there a way out?
Are these my own thoughts,
Or chemically programmed sequences
Designed to make me "think"?
Will someone open the exit door?
Or let me fall through the floor?
Thoughts induced by these nagging chemicals.
They won't leave me be inside these walls.
These fake flat plastered things we call walls.
And as I sat inside these walls,
Falling inside of my chemical thoughts
I found the way through my mind
And out the other side.