Wonderland

There are multicolored visions

where he’s been taught to see

in grayscale bruises where

he’s been taught to feel firm flesh

his sleep has become startled by seconds

ticking away on the wall

where there is no clock

and the room has been stripped

he has been stripped

and there exists nothing

between skin and replicated wood

what can he do if

he doesn’t see things

that are there

like everyone else sees them

and instead all he feels is a wonderland

needle pointed, embroidered, fire escaped him

he can’t stand this three A.M. existentialism

doesn’t see the need to try anymore

or play this form

or fix his vocal chords into

syllables, mold his tongue around

those words,

exist in this shape

in this world