Dormancy urges this vessel to
waiver in the processes of sight.
Each reflection an eclipse on
what is viewed from oneself.

I wish not to be repossessed  by
a motion where I'm a husk of
inactivity. Static in reality not
of my choosing but I slumber.

In the cloudiness of a mind,
I'm creating false versions of
myself, wisps of imaginings.    
But I see mirages of untruths.

I wonder like the spectral
apparition within an absence
of self. Weaving syllables of
disillusion, Yet  not of my words.

*"We slumber like death that is but a misplaced beat between both,