the honeycomb pattern on my bed
burns colour into my vision
as sleep chases me
even deeper
into my
self
I
flee
the pull
of dreams
by becoming my own
pattern which flows wave-like
out of my mind, into the honeycomb
and back again, leaving behind
that which makes me
myself and
I finally
feel
a
soft
drifting
towards the
edge of consciousness
where my body dissolves into
the illusory afterimage of the pattern

the honeycomb pattern on my bed
burns colour into my vision
as sleep chases me
even deeper
into my
self
I
flee
the pull
of dreams
by becoming my own
pattern which flows wave-like
out of my mind, into the honeycomb
and back again, leaving behind
that which makes me
myself and
I finally
feel
a
soft
drifting
towards the
edge of consciousness
where my body dissolves into
the illusory afterimage of the pattern