Always out of reach to my preaching fingertips,
Righteously speaking of a dream,
Whose face they have never seen
Emotionally accusing the obscene,
Whatever that means..
What’s held back by the screen
As it’s sifted assiduously,
I-wish-they-were-forgotten memories
They always manage to creep back inside of me,
As a nightmare, “Aaand.. Scene!”  it’s all imaginary
Just rehearsal on repeat, it’s not happening, it’s not happening
Outside of fluttering eyelids, there’s no monsters in your sheets
Just the ones that breathe against your skull,
No ghoul but, a ghost- a howling specter that can’t let go
It makes its presence well known, in the darkness it is home
And I am merely a guest, in its humble abode.
A parasite on my soul, a gracious host;
Serving anguish paired with laughter as it toasts,
“To dying alone, and rotting with scorn straight through your bones!”

Death, carves a smile upon the eternal scowl scarring the earth.
Though he leaves me at sunrise, after eating hell as sleep’s dessert.

-SLuR