Padded ankle restraints under a weighted blanket
A cocoon of endless comfort
All I see is gray, all I feel is pressure
Sitting up as the fog sloughs from my brain
My perception cracks and distorts, fault lines fracturing
Prisms rotating through endless refractions
But all the light is muted and beige
When was my world technicolor
I am seduced by the call of complacency
Lulled by its unhurried whispers
Chains of mists formed from anxiety
Knot my wrists and over my relaxed sighs
I hear the click of the rack as it cranks
Stretching me so thin that I become paper
Folded around a smooth stone and dropped
Into a frigid, silent lake at the top of the world
All I see is gray, all I feel is pressure.
Poetry Overdose 