Staring at the ceiling.
The ceiling is all seeing.
It’s spinning fingers grab hold of my thoughts.
There’s lots.
Grabbing until I’m a zombie.
This is my new hobby.
Ceiling fan,
I’m a fan.
Could stare at you forever.
Stop looking, I could never.
You spin my thoughts around on low mode.
Out my ears and mouth they flowed.
But I do this in the numbest way.
I do this in the most depressed way.