As I drift off,
I feel my cloud nest float away,
Drawn as by the warmth of a thousand suns.
Finally I rest, and the moon inclines his head:
"Sweet Dreams," I hear him say
In his gentle, crooning tones.

Then down, down, down,
Down to the deepest depths of hell;
Fire flashes in the devil's eyes.
A clamy sweat breaks out.
"Roaches, Roaches!" I yell
I can hear them coming
Score on score of tiny feet;
They come like the plague,
From the mouth of the beast himself.

Then it stops.
I find myself in the twisted world of yestermorrow:
A strange land of deja vu and half-truth,
Constructed with the stuff of dreams
So thickly is it woven that individual thoughts often pass unnoticed.

I lie there
Soon, it seems no problem is either big or small.
Everything carries equal weight.
Nothing makes sense
The world is in the palm of my hand, and I am in hers.
Then I hear the voice:

"Get up! You're late for school!"