max

up is down and down is up as the ceilings begin to shift into the heavens of a single room in a lousy apartment. the rug becomes grass and an empty white dinner plate has turned into the moon. the books are trees, and the walls are my white picket fence. everything else becomes inconsequential. outside those two doors is merely an apparition. inside is my very own porcelain bucket. a stale smell flows here, where i can finally think my thoughts and dig the deep hole known as insanity. time doesnt exist now, your clock is your ashtray and your only friends are jim, jack, and johnny. they all contribute to the fieldtrip throughout the hole im digging. sanity is the enemy and the enemy is sitting outside of my bedroom door