I hate dreams.
I hate them for what they make me see,
Worse still is that even as you know their not real,
You believe and it seems,
If only for a second, that what could be or should be,
Or what simply isn't,
Is.

I hate seeing her face,
So sad under those shades;
Take me home,
She seems to say,
But nobody really talks in dreams.
But nobody really talks.

I died in a dream once.
And I kept on sleeping.
What does it mean, what does it mean?
To me death is one long dreamless sleep,
But I fear the opposite, that it is one sleepless dream.

I see his face now and then.
The face in real life I barely remember.
Under the water.
Calling up.
Save me.
But dreams can't change your world.
Tragically they can only make you believe.

My moms there waiting for me.
Though her alone I am too scared to see.
Even my subconcious knows not to tease me,
Knows the scars and the pain,
And how it would bleed me and end me
And I curse them from keeping me,
I hate dreams.