Resting
Controlling my breathing in a cloud-like pattern.
No one, not even a bucket of slime can hurt me.
Lying down “Not Really.”
Feels like it,
The horizontal sensation.
Jumping out at me.
They play like that.
Molecules inside me, and out there.
All in a bedroom where I’m always alive.
Everyone has a time where they don’t sleep.
Just like a fly doesn’t sleep, he just exists.
Overhead.
Behind nothing.
No one can explain how a dream-like state can pinch and bite like this.
Then it’s not dream-like is it?
It’s just a pulley system tugging me out of the well.
Drop down again.
The sun doesn’t do anything.
Doesn’t even haunt me.
Just expands and extends everything and all the planets circle in agreement.
And that’s what rest is to me.
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