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The door is cracking and the paint is peeling,
The floorboards are rotting,
The ceiling is falling apart,
The sky is falling to pieces.
My dream is not yet gone,
It haunts the light entering my eyes,
But I would fall back to sleep if it weren't for the light,
The world isn't lit very well.
The dream felt real and the light is becoming lucid,
The books are starting to make sense,
The Angels are back and willing to negotiate.
The sun will rise again, it will flood my windowpane soon and the false light will go away soon,
I'm so happy to be awake, the light from under the door is strong,
It lights up the walls and the decrepit is made new.
The Demonic self imposed death in sleep is asleep.
Ignoring the Prozac dried aura around my head,
I can see beneath my eyelids the window turning red,
Everything ordered, all in the slaughter house is made right,
I can live forever in fallen moonlessness staring at the Chemical Light