Thoughts get in your Smoke

The smoke leaves my lips as I blow it up to the ceiling, I’m heavy. I wonder what it would be like to be the smoke, rising and falling away from itself; weightless it can see its insides… and it floats. I could stay up there and look down at everyone at the dinner table.
They couldn’t see me – wouldn’t see my face as I become lost in my own thoughts. They wouldn’t feel sorry that I didn’t understand, thinking that my thoughtful face means that I’m sad, which I’m not, I’m just thinking of being smoke.

Confusion creeps between the floorboards...

I feel small and you, up there... looking down upon me as I trip and fall between the floorboards. Dusty webs stretch over my eyes - when the world turns to black I know it was them: those eight legged manipulators changing my future as I rock on my knees and wish to be up there. You laugh, you don't free me... just grin, look what the cat dragged in, grin. You are the mouse, a cats tale tail tale of a cat. I cannot be free today but when you hear the patter of eight footsteps - you will be sorry, for I belong with them now - they are the only ones to teach me. One day i will be tall again, and I will smile as I look down upon you looking up back at me up there.

I smell dying beetles...

I don't know. It's not easy to say what's happening inside here where I am. The door is locked and on the outside I hear them screaming... under the door, the crack of light I see ten piles of oranges. The smell rises up into me of dying beetles....
Where am I? Lost inside -
Drag my fingernails along the ground. A cold pavement. Gravel. Bleeding. Is this it? the place where you have taken.... me.... taken. Am I to go now through the crack in the door 'drink me' shrink small? is that it? my name is not Alice sir!