Each corner unravels in sleep,

Breathless in years, 

the pillow lies flat, airless. 

 

At a corner of the pillow sheet,

a black mouth opens at the seam–  

where ink bled through paper,

where dreams learned to weep.

 

I fell some nights,

as rain, as wheels on ruined roads

Till I awoke, with beads of sweat

that sank and shaded the pillow 

 

Every scream sewn inwards,

some days I cried till my face melted into

wobbly linings of my eyes and nostrils– 

A jocular portrait, I still laugh to 

 

And below the faded sheets,

It still faintly paints 

the colors of my fears and dreams 

when I lay my head down.