In MY sleep,
not yours,
I travel places,
black,
with their blood
and dying.
You don't know,
you can't know,
and you'll never
join me.
They're as real
as the light
in the daytime,
to me,
at least,
and that's
all
that
counts
you know.
I go there
I see it,
painted on
the inside
of my eyes.
For the rest
of my
life,
in MY sleep,
I travel.