dream dimension

Sometimes I still wake up
in my childhood bedroom.
My eyes wide open
I try to make sense of the shadows.
Was the bookcase next to my bed,
or was it the vanity?

Sometimes I can still feel
the soft psychedelic lullaby
of the rhythmic pharmacy green light
creeping through my blind-less window.
Red, then green, then red, then double green –
looping on the ceiling
and in my restless dreams.

Will I be trapped forever
in this yellow-walled room
chased by ghosts sipping blood
out of cartoon decorated bedsheets?

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