The slight comfort of mild pressure
From a brick wall delivered to the side of one's skull,
With it's think coat connecting to one's eyes.
No matter what distance, the blank colors of the barrier persists.

The lights flicker and dim with the lack of movement in the air.
No momentum nor medium,
Yet light moves on.

Tranquility found in a state where light's hand,
Shaking with fear
And calamity, cannot reach.

Eyes drift, and the skull begins to follow
To where light cannot reach
For inspiration, for peace,
For silence.

This is just something I'm playing around with. I'm still trying to figure out how to approach my writing without having to be all "medical." Tell me what you think so far.
C4C, if requested.