Mind tricks

I see in your den
You come back to me completely insane
It's day after ten
Since you're quietly laing the blame
My mind races in your game
Back and forth, switch reverse
Still no permission to land
And if I make no sense
You make no sense to me
All for a mutual expense
You know nothing's for free

Michael rushes the stairs, Michael races a ghost, Michael is chased by his uncle, Michael's life is the loss. As he screams and he shivers, as he flings at the bed, noises so high and shallow rip apart at his head. All the running never got him too far. He took down the stairs, ended up among stars. As he blinks and stares, his mind completely derails. Michael swims over the stars, in the blissful silence he feels like he's far. Far from all earthly troubles, from his mom, from his car. They both needs new heart implants- his mom and his car. Michael only has one heart to give and to neither it's fit. Poor boy strolling among stars, poor boy fetch a star, but it will never make you shiny.
He begins to fall head down, he reaches the clouds, spinning circles on the descend, his vertebrae the vertical line, noises fill back his ears, screams rise in a torrent of voices who blame, who cry, who worry, who try. His skin is burning, his legs are crippled and bleed, Michael falls in a chair and he falls in a sleep. Nothing makes sense in here, even Dreamland may be blessed with a sense, but not the being of this boy, who is locked to a chair. Colours squirm like worms all around in a funny carousel, giggling lightly with joy- Purple is the party's host and he'll make of it the most. Yellow is the bitch and the center, who flies all over the place, he gives Michael headaches like no other. But Pink is the worst as she tickles his ears, as she sips from his brain, as she whispers to him his life is in vain. His life was, is and will be pain. Everything spins around him, it spins, yes it spins. Why doesn't he know what is happening? Why can't he get a hold of his head? What a devilish mind trick...his ear-drums bled. He sees a button to button- a button to shut up his mouth. Michael is the one making all of those voices. Michael shut up your mouth. Michael button the button so you won't talk. You never did all these things, you never burned in these sins. Michael reaches a hand, his finger extends and pushes down down slowly and there goes Michael's head- blown into pieces by a 38 caliber Colt.
Now he is pieceful, but not in peace.
Now he sips tea over the stars with The March Hare and the Hatter.