And these dreams will be the death of me.
Broken sleep &
relentless lethargy.
I'm out of control,
so I'm told.
I've slipped outside of my soul,
or so I'm told.
My nose runs consistently,
Yet I don't have a cold.
Now everything hurts,
and yet I feel so cold.
REM dream sequences;
play me on repeat.
play on repeat,
Everybody hurts too but they carry on,
Won't admit defeat.
Not me,
I bend under the pressure,
Malleable,
& then break what's,
Valuable.
I'm weak at the knees,
alieness in alloness of stress;
Please let me rest,
Stop stealing my shut eye by looking in to mine,
I walked the line,
But crossed it,
No going back now I think,
I shudder each time I blink.
And in dreams I believe I could be happy,
Or at least not so sad,
Wishing to feel those feelings
That I've predominately lacked.
Now in dreams I wait to see a GP
in reality,
So he can endorse these feelings into clarity,
Prescribe me patronisingly with 50mg of setraline;
"I'm sure alls not as bad as it seems"
He says so candidly,
Whilst I'm sat here,
can't even speak,
trapped at the mercy of these endorphinemachines.

I wake to one more
daybreak,
pick up the pieces and
with tape in hand
join in
the repairing of
the broken
jigsaw.

I dream this,
a silent movie
Queen
screen kiss,
Pickford and I locked
into an embrace
fly.

And the jigsaw waits for me
to end the dreamery and
Pickford wearily
unites with other artists
almost tearily and
waves goodbye
to me.

I pick the pieces from my eyes
disengage my ears and no
longer hear her cries, it makes
no difference how hard a man tries,
the day always breaks.
.