I just arrived.

Tuesday smells of fruit jelly and rust; I married a bench by the building entrance. She told me, "You aren't real," And walked into the fog, leaving me a tomato. I followed her on tiptoes made of cotton wool, But a patrol of flying slippers caught me. They asked, "Where is your paycheck?" I answered, "In the soup," and they let me be. A sock shop opened on the Moon, But the socks there are made of tears and garlic. I bought one for three rubles, And now it blinks at me in the night. My neighbor is a sandwich come to life; He shouts "Good morning!" through the wall. But I hide under the bed to escape my worries, Because I’ve turned invisible... yet chubby. An aquarium lives inside my head, Where forgotten ideas swim about. I feed them crumbs of "I can't," And they grow like cacti in a closet. The door creaks in the language of giraffes, The lightbulb blinks out my debts in Morse code. I’d like to be normal, but alas, I’ve long since become a pot with no legs. So don't bother me; I'm doing fine— I'm a guest here at the loony bin. Come over for some cockroach tea, But promise not to ask about "what comes next."