Midnight

I lay in bed at midnight.
My hands move on their own,
Faces made of fingers,
Projecting a voice inside my mind.

It's raining; the window's open.
I'm slightly cold.
I reach to close it and the wall
Inches away from my grasp.
The wind is screaming my name.

A streetlight in the distance flickers.
It's brighter than it should be.
Every once in awhile, the strobing
Illuminates a strange angle,
And I see shadow people staring at me.

The comforter gives me orgasmic bliss
As it touches my skin.
It tickles a memory of being in a crib,
Where my toys would plot my murder
As I desperately tried to escape.

My eyes invert in the socket —

Everything is in perspective, backwards.

Written May 29, 2022. Posted June 1, 2022.