drowsiness
the lights in front of my eyelids fade in with the rushing of a tide pool, and out like like the scream of a banshee. Soon, though, I come accustomed to the ebbing of consciousness, and feel my stomach rippling like a silk sheet.
My eyes are two cameras, aiming, adjusting to the dead light, rotating their scratched and sallow lenses to the world, hoping that it might turn out better in a different focus.
The motion just makes me sea sick.
