This sleep has sunk to catacombs Where dreams are dreaming of themselves, And where they slump to deeper shelves A dim and voiceless banshee roams. Interlopers jostle memory, And pressing on his signet ring, Take on the seal of realer things. Truth’s rejected for hyperbole. Delusions stack in strata, drowned, Lives never lived, in parallel, That puzzle sleepers who can’t tell Where waking lies, so lies confound.
An exotic perfume out of her fleshy lips Glistening teeth with a slight fringe of light yellow Hair messy but perfectly done Eyes, a bit far off but as true as the moon The smile as beautiful as a rose in a thousand nettles.
The greatest treasure for mankind is a perfect soulmate and nothing else...
I wish my tactile hallucinations would give me a massage, A warm hug from my non-existent mother, A kiss from my long distance boyfriend.
A twisted fairytale
My hallucinations They know what I fear most And they want me to be afraid They feed off my terror They get off on my sick brain They know what torments me. Arachnophobia’s favorite game to play The spiders Come out of My skin They’ve been waiting patiently When I’m most vulnerable When I’m isolated When I’m helpless