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

Submitted: September 28, 2018

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Submitted: September 28, 2018



Consider this:

A proper nightmare comes from tangible shape

Some anxiety on two legs

Left to waste, and wreck, and fester

Sleep is a momentary retreat

Dark thought without shadow,

Costumed in dull, dumb, universal imagery


For instance,

I swam through a landless ocean mass the other night

Wrapped in wet blanket and ephemeral terror

A swallowing deepwater dread making home in my brain

That is oblivion at work


Yesterday I woke up sweaty and miserable

Having fallen asleep without condensing myself

The dream was this:

Sleeping in the house of doors and windows,

Of unlit hallways and present discomfort

Every friend I’ve ever made

Was clawing their way in


Someone says dreams are a processing

A catharsis where you need not think,

Just be

The memory confounded by a swell,

Or by dislocated arms forced into place


Unwillingly, I go

I travel


Today I slept till 3,

Rising to a profound feeling of loneliness that anyone can relate to,

But no one can extract

A sleep without dreams,

With no memory of recent heartbreak

Was that really even sleep?

Now the worst is gone, but there’s still no warmth

No substance with which to cover my delicate frame

All fetal thought extinguished and You,


Pale beyond belief and waiting for Death,  

Let the tulips wither

Dug up the bulbs with a kind of deadbeat anguish


You cannot date a sickness, a dream, or a thought

You date physical flesh and morning breath

You cannot date a dream, but you can marry a nightmare

You cannot swim through Hell because the river is a bisection,

And you must decide your half


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