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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 19, 2018

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Submitted: September 19, 2018



Dreams are a fickle thing,

Shape shifting your identity,

Alluring your subconscious desires,

This illusion reveals a secret credibility.


Sleeping is like death with benefits.

You can come and go as you please,

You can cheat the day by passing in dreams,

You can run away whenever you need but eventually death will seize.


Death and I are old friends, we go way back,

A long distance relationship in between nightmares and fantasies.

We are dying to meet the other in the middle of a soft slumber,

An elusive trance is inviting with an open door, and death is inside to render my tragedies.


Maybe this is why the devil never sleeps.

Too busy causing agony, anguish, and affliction,

He knows how to avoid the temptation everyone falls into.

Everyone has something to take away the pain, everyone has an addiction.


So should I lay me down to sleep?

Will I die before I wake?

Can I avoid the infinite nights ahead?

Because my soul is tired, my body is weary, and my mind is going to break.


Goodnight for now, I will see you in the future.

If not, just know dreams are better than reality, and I am at peace.

Rest assured, I'm not trying to leave, but I am in too deep.

I am desperate enough to hibernate until my existence is ceased.

© Copyright 2019 Rambles of a Poethead. All rights reserved.

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