My mind, spinning red like the spokes of your bicycle,
Dazed by halted slumber, lying flat and still.
The weight of Doubt pressed his callused hands
Upon my chest and at my laudable resistance,
He laughs.

I sink.

Dreams laced too vividly with haze-dusted fears,
Lasting in wake as only nightmares can.
Gaining strength with each repression,
Defiant, cold, and sharp,
Burns into thought to tease this somber heart.

Soaring downhill,
Wheels spin in unison without control.
The friction of conflicting realities
Ignite the fire in my core.
Cooling tears of salt and guilt fail to douse the flames.

Snapshots from the dreaming reel,
Float,
Snide toward my gated heart.
Falling.
Slow.
Elegant as sonnets torn in cruel haste
From the gold-gilded diary of a closet poet.