Tomorrow night, you’ll sleep walk into your lover’s dreams.
You’ll open the gate to hell, where you’ll find the poor ******
souls of a lost generation. Their lust, recklessness & drunkenness
will come as no shock to you. You’ll find your people trashed;
***** bottles smashed & abandoned, intoxicated girls balanced
on their Jeffrey Campbell Litas floating through social groups.
Boys, barely men, will be seen beaten down to the bare bones
of their existence, cigarette blunts piercing their open chests;
stinging & burning, red & yellow ash sparking flames on
the black lingerie of their lover’s.  

Tomorrow night, you’ll wish you were not sleep walking into
your lover’s dreams. In the days you spend there, you will not
find the lover you know. You’ll find a lover who is invaded
by body snatches; emphatically dominating every white cell.
You’ll find a lover, cast away with the ghosts of his past.
You’ll bear witness to pendulums of excessive desires
swinging to & fro – where time stands still, & not even
the ticking of a clock can be found, to count the days til
the grave he will fly.

© Sia Jane