The sleep is something that no longer comforts me.
Even when I find it it doesn't comfort me like it does
to most.
Instead, it taunts me with fragments of memories.
Or are they?
Is that what they call a dream?
But my imagination is not how Disney portrays it.
It is
sick
and twisted.
Awake I lie covered in a cold sweat
for I am one
who does not dream.
Nightmares are what surround me;
awake
or asleep
doesn't matter.
Not anymore.
And once again,
the nightmares
steal all the
happy,
kind,
sweet,
thoughts and I am left
cold,
broken,
and alone.