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?
