I am possesed by rain and spiders
clinging to the limbs of trees
as they sway like the arms
of dancers in the wind.
These things scoff at my existence
and my insistence to record
their vitality
in bitter, unrequited attempts
to find my own.
But the clocks will spin
and most of the sleepers will awake.
The rest can only hope that
they know the worst nightmare
belongs to someone else,
as we who are awake
can only hope
that the nightmare doesn't find us here,
tinkering away existence
in rooms with walls,
as though anythings could keep our nature
away. As though all which possesses me
now would fail to break a part of me off;
something immeasurable and weightless
that i never owned
to begin with.