I am the unknown bug in the bed creeping up your sleeping body. Only in your dreams can you brush me from your leg.
You are noiseless, stirless. I'll feel you with feelers, rip you apart with them until your soul splits into my light and guide.
It beckons me upward until I clumsily climb into that dark, mysterious end. I am an alien in your black cavern of truth.
I want there to be hope in there, to be light. Where are the cut-paper shadows and leaves that show us what is real? Only you can sense the white-filmy substance. Tell me about how it sparkles like reality. Tell me how to find a cave of my own.
Spread open and let in the silver moon of the night. I'll tear the program down. We can re-do it together. And then you'll say "You can't deconstruct what you can't construct."
I come back to you when the sun puts his harsh face over the edge,
In the cold, sunken bed I eagerly await the moment that long, defeated look hits your morning face. You stretch, scratch your body, and wonder who is taking your life.