Laying in bed staring up at the ceiling,
Staring at the dots above like drifting clouds,
Cool air circulating around me:
Calm, cool darkness permeates the air.
Birds drifting across the sky,
an endless wave of wings a-flutter,
streaking across a mass of clouds,
suspended like marshmallows
floating in a sea of hot chocolate.
Blue stolid planes of shifting silence
moving across the celestial sphere.
Closing in around my head,
forms of suffocating fear.
Crushing... heavy... cold.
Head resting on a pillow of stone.
Arms folded across my chest.
All is still -
lost within the dark night.















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If art were about following rules, then I am not an artist.
You may call me Esie.
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