I felt the edge of my nightmare, grasping to the subconscious
worries that were clinging like venomous fangs delving inwards.
Dreams were a potato peeler on the different skins that
were pealed from my normality to what turned metaphorical
hairs white, I screamed in high definition of speechlessness.

Have you ever woken to find that the reflection of what was
coherent within your diluted dreams had clung to your eyelids?
Escaping the dreamscape of illusion and collecting into the
tear ducts of deliberations connecting eclipses of reality
that was a mirage of what I conceived in both verses.  

I had awoken in momentary seclusion, short lived like a
verse of a haiku that versed much but bleed more than it
had versed. I was a paradox of complexity, my tribulations
were collecting in lagoons of reality about to burst.
I was immersed in a mirage of impulses and needed to visualize.

I felt the edge of my nightmare, and it penetrated like
satin fissures on my delicately woven reflections.
Those that stared back upon me, expressing their intentions.
We are a motion of luminosity and twilight and our
dreams weave a thin line that lingers in our dreams..