#dreamcoreaesthetic

I dreamt I slipped

through a seam in the wallpaper—

just one loose corner behind the couch

that curled like a finger,

inviting.

Suddenly I’m there:

fluorescent hum

buzzing like a thought you can’t finish,

carpet damp underfoot

with no source of water

and no promise of dry.

Everything smells like

forgotten furniture.

The ceiling tiles blink

when I’m not looking.

Each hallway hums in a different key.

There are no windows,

but shadows still behave

like something is watching.

I walk for hours—or minutes—

time loops on itself

like thread in a drawer

you meant to untangle.

A phone rings in the distance.

A child’s laugh echoes—

not creepy, just…

misplaced.

I find a sign that says:

“YOU ARE ALMOST SOMEWHERE.”

But when I turn, it’s gone.

I could swear it smelled like my grandmother’s house.

Or maybe it was lemon Pledge.

Nothing chases me.

But something waits.

I wake

to the same hum,

the corner of my room curling