I rarely dream.
I used to,
quite often--black and white--
rose petals and elephants with wings.
Now it takes hours.
Not to dream,
but to sleep--mind racing--
with mania of over-excitable excitement.
Then I'm in darkness.
As if I'm dead,
lying in a coffin--I'm the corpse bride--
only wishing for a dream of angelic giants.
Perhaps I'm now a ghost.
Not evil with psychosis,
but destroying my sheets--to make every morning--
as if dancing with my social phobia of shyness.
But this night.
The darkness is,
not just manic--it is mixed with depression--
summer to winter and too much and too little.
I listen to my heart.
Rather than dream,
thump, thump--a beating ***** suffices--thump--
my heart screams awake and I catch myself in falling.
In a jolt.
I'm over-calmed with,
nothingness--darkening dream--thump, thump--
dream of manic nothingness.