So it looks like I can try poetry too.
Sleep comes in waves retreating from the real
—It doesn’t end.
Walls and the ground were always just pretend.
Voices dampen, as coyest murmurs steal
Round your arms with profoundest feel—
—ing, like you’ll bend:
Into a night of living dream.
Into a tv sky.
Into a world where flat is tall
And round, and all besides.
Blocks they will form, to stopper up your sight.
Then a kick, it falls—Toppling, mere light.