Pricked at the light of
close petite windows
What it would be like to float away
on thoughts of gold
and never have to think again of this numbing mind
this numbing heart;
I wish for happiness, but have forgotten
everything that means something
Questions filter through screens
my mind a puzzle of its own
Who's the mouse?
Who's the doctor?
And what Exactly, is the cheese?
Do we wish for windows to stay closed
or to open for breezes? I'll never know the thoughts
that swim into my blood like cold dead
that somehow manage