The Illusions from Ceiling

I am looking above and I see

nothing

is nothing to be seen

else I do not want to look

I shut my eyes

cry, I pray to appear

high still nothing is

now I’m outside, in the street

in countertime

I keep the eyes tight. Everything

is hurting me, the thought of fear

I’m stinging my lips. I open them

watch in emptiness. Above I don’t look

is unnecessary; on top I feel, is the ceiling

I suicide to mumble:

You do not exist.