From the top of my mouth, through my nose and up to my hairline there is a highway of ants.
The ants never stop running. They float above my skin and they dig deep tunnels through my flesh in their endless commute.
The more attention I give them, the faster they go, and the harder they step. When I focus, I can almost hear their tiny little voices, singing songs of work and fate.
Their favorite stop are my temples. They build their small castles there, and they fall in love and procreate and multiply and the weight and the pressure grow and…
My eyes want to close; they are so heavy… My face is warm, inviting me to sleep. I can still feel them, but my vision gets darker and my senses numb.
And then the ants are gone, and I am going on an adventure.