I like to place bricks on my voice, So it will let out only whispers, When my eyes are listening, To the moonlight falling asleep, On seabed.

I like to tie strings over my wrists, on my ankles so I would not jump, To catch stars playing freeze tag in my backyard.

It sounds like a nice place, A place snuggling in my imagination.

Dust will end its songs and become the audience today. Speakers will turn daft and instead birds will walk on our cements and sing, and roar. Leaves will turn green, Turn water, Turn a bliss, Lifting off the concretes, Sleeping on our clocks. And I will punch holes in my ears to hear Screams sleeping tonight.

It seems like a nice place, Where I want to breathe, A place which will not draw curtains, When I open my eyes.

Laughter will fly when stones tied to it will pull it down. Pages lost, will finally find their way back to dusty shelves. Somewhere I can swim, From each letter to each word. My fingers, My cheeks, My knees. I. I will swim and turn blue, Turn ink.

Is this a place? Find me this place; My eyes refuse to wake up to nothingness.