I wake up to shadows
My body unable to move
Panic begins to set in
These visions inhuman

My eyes are barely open
I can see them moving
I'm awake it seems
Yet I'm still in a dream

The shadows move closer
They shift and whisper
I wonder what they say
As I panic where I lay

Here I realize something
How good it feels to choose
What happens around me
And how I shape my reality

What it feels like to have had sleep paralysis and hallucinations. This used to happen and when it did, I was in between reality and dreams.

With gaps between each other, so slim that only essentials
Pass through unquestioned, dunes develop before the shoreline.
Scenic transformations containing apparitions of Gaia. An
Unaccompanied portrait. Ultraviolet, not claret or tangerine,
Actively grays the skeleton beneath salinized feet. All sizes and shapes
Continue on, north or south. Sometimes pausing in place to
View courting gulls, klee-ew klee-ew, initiating aeronautic affairs.
Ballets of gusting lust; then continue on, north, or south.

Our feet pay no mind to the calcified construction; we know
Without knowledge how delicate it remains. Seasons whisper
Motherly instincts, natural as Picasso's Spanish brush, tangibly
Colorful. Cerulean and further from known sensual perception, the Distant shoreline witnesses tides climb and fall with the moon. Carrying Foreign bodies, forgotten treasures, and newer apparitions, She stood
Naked between pillars of limestone and ash. Unwavering in her gaze,
Seductive with her emerging gait. Certain on death; certain on life.

Birthed Atlantic body, unabashedly nude and rightfully so. She held life, She held death, above the frothing coast, beneath the graying skeleton of Unquestioning gaps. Her eyes remained agreeably blue, contrasted by the Objective red, dripping from her left and right. Remaining motionless, her Outstretched hands offered the reddest rose with thorns and cleanest Blade of stainless steel, sharpened with her kiss. She had no words or
Need to use them. I reached for her bloody rose and sniffed its tempting
Scent, leaving our fates in her hand. Certain with life; certain with death.

Our fortunes sealed, her life or mine, gulls klee-ewed with defining Knowledge. They know her Atlantic, the tide, the current, the cresting Waves. She does not answer for her actions or apologize for what she is. She remains unpredictable and weaponized. I have scars as proof.
Beneath the greyest skeleton, aside the bloody shore, lies knowledge of
Delicate ends. Where lusting gusts blow apparitions and courting calls.
North or South, we continue on above the dunes. Splintering planks
Kiss our salinized souls, reminding us of our mother's whisper,

"these bones do not crack with ease".

Tim Peetz Jan 26

Between the conception and the creation
                                                        ­                Falls the Shadow.
Blinding lights, a crowded terrace,
Flickers, music, ballroom dance
Suddenly, the image shatters -
Darkness, rest from unknown lands.
S-spiralling-ing down to nimbus
Infinity yet to explore
Commotion woke me from my dreams
and left me yearning for ____

Hypnagogia is the experience of the transitional state from wakefulness to sleep: the hypnagogic state of consciousness, during the onset of sleep. Mental phenomena that occur during this "threshold consciousness" phase include lucid thought, lucid dreaming, hallucinations and sleep paralysis.

Etymology: late 19th ct., from French "hypnagogique", from Greek "hupnos" - sleep + "agōgos" - leading.

This poem was inspired by Viki Bennett's short film "The Big Sleep" (2014).

Drunk and violent
I am stumbling over the civil dead
And my toe is caught in their quilt of twisted limbs
There are mother necks
Daughter legs
And fat infant heads
Their skin is a flesh ceramic
That is smooth appearing
Icy cool against my feet
Ceramic soon to be sculpted by scavengers’ ravenous jaws
Into disfigured cradles for writhing spawn of bug

With force I free my toe
I have no time to idle
I am late to my brother’s home

We are in his garden
Backyard desert earth
Clods of clotted dirt
His hands are watering the tangled vines at their pinkish roots
Solemnly he waters with copper tears and spit
To the east I am staring
At the white wall of brick
I wonder what lives inside these spongy chunks

When he finishes watering
He turns his neck
His head
He faces me
Killing my gaze with the porous wall

The lips beneath his compound eye swing wide and fully apart  
He mournfully breathes
Words with sharpened vowels
The letters are sallow blond

My wife
She left
My wife
I slit her throat
My wife
I beat her
Beat her dead
She’s buried by child oak
You smell like whiskey
You smell like musky goat
You smell like the civil dead that line the path to my wealthy home

SofScoli Dec 2016

I stand here with a bottle in my hands
I'm so phased I don't remember what's inside
I dump a few in my hand
And throw em back with gin
It's not enough
I'm still conscious
I need more
Find another bottle
I can't pronounce the name
I dump a few in my hand
And throw em back with gin
It's not enough
I don't wanna use the good stuff
I wanna use the good stuff
Anything to float away
I think I flew thru the floor
I'm in the clouds now
They're shades of pink and blue
I fly and fly until I can't see you
I see lakes and skies
I'm happy
I'm free
Free of you
And free of me
I think I'm falling now
Closer and closer to the ground
I don't wanna leave
I don't wanna go
Closer and closer to the ground
The ground bends up and around
Flipping upside down
Covering the sky
The city now above me I keep falling
Am I up or am I down
I can't tell
The more I fall
The darker it gets
Until I can't see anything at all
My head hurts
I feel my heart beating deep in me
Each beat hurts and is slow
It feels like I might explode
Each beat in then release
It hurts more and more every time
Then it stops all at once
I stop falling
I am still in the dark
Then I feel gravity take over
I open my eyes
I am on my bathroom floor
I try to push my self up and fall
I breathe in
It hurts
I flip myself over
I'm hyperventilating
I've been laying here for what feels like days
I stand up and look in the mirror
I am afraid of the man before me
I don't remember him
I smile at myself
But it quickly fades
I splash water on my face
I walk to my bed room
I stand there in the door frame for a few beats and then to my closet
I grab a green button down
And my grey slacks
I pick the black shoes
With golden little clasps
I take off my wet white shirt and replace it with blue
-- now donning my attire for the day I walk toward my front door and put on my face for the day
I open the door the cold hits my face
But the heat takes its place
I get in my car
Start the engine
Put on the ac
I'm sweaty and hot
Even in four degrees
Now in the parking lot of my job I sit and sip an old water
Open the glove compartment and see what's left
I have blue ones
And white ones
Some red ones
Some green ones
I think one of each will do
I throw back a rainbow
And shut my eyes
Waiting for them to take over
I feel good now as I walk into work
I see desk lady Sharon and janitor bill
I get in the elevator and press number three
I get out and see Tom from accounting floor three
I walk to my cubicle
Familiar and mine
I sit in my spinny black chair
And brush fingers thru my hair
It's wet
I look at my hands they're stained in blood
I feel it running down my head
I wipe and wipe at the rear of my brain
More and more it's gushing now
I look around and realize I'm not at work
I'm not in my cubicle
I'm not in my car
I'm not outside
But I am in my house
Still lying on the bathroom floor
My vision goes black
I don't know where I am
Or who I am at this point
There is nothing but black
There is no up nor down nor here nor there
Just black up black down black here and black there

i wrote this a long time ago after taking xans to get my bellybutton pierced and i realized how addicting that stuff was for people and why it is.
Peninsula Oct 2016

I can:

1) Feel your fingers intertwined to mine
Even when they're not there anymore

2) Smell your strange scent everywhere
Even in places we've never been to

3) Hear your giggles around the corner
Even in times that you're away

4) See your smile among the people walking past me
Even you tell me you're not coming around

caitlin Sep 2016

i cant control what you post online,
but please dont tell me a spider will appear on my bed if i don't like your photo.

i cant control what you say,
but please dont tell me about the video of a spider you saw when i'm eating.

i cant control what you do,
but please dont show me pictures of spiders as a joke.

i cant control what you ask,
but please don't tease me about my phobia.

i cant control what you hold,
but please take the spider out of my room.

i cant control my breathing
as the trigger is pulled and my heart stops
i cant control my thoughts
as images of monsters flood the space behind my eyes
i cant control my feet
as they dance and tremble at any movement around me
i cant control my hands
as they clasp my head and run through my hair

i take a breath of hot, humid air
my hair stands on end and my senses cling to me
which only makes me jump higher when dust brushes past my arm
when a surface brushes past my hip, a pile of clothes past my feet

i take a shower to cool down
i cannot move but i must escape
so my mind runs for me
each freezing drop of water grows eight legs and scuttles down to the bathtub

i cant control what you think of me,
but please dont feel the need to explain how to catch a spider.
i know it more than you do.
i know the exact angle of your wrist as you hold a glass and some paper.

a small sliver of me is left
the rest lost in hallucinations and tiny movements
i am petrified and alive
and i must keep watching it or it'll catch up on me

i had a really bad experience with a spider once and it was so nightmare/horror film-ish that i think i mightve hallucinated it
Knit Personality Aug 2016

die on a gray day
gorgeous with autumn colors

oilwater pooling in the road
dive into the shallows
head first

bird gets a bath
to grease his feathers
creatures quench their thirst
oilwater thickened with mites

wet and chilly
sweater and flannel
scuba gear weather
flavor of dead leaves
like dirt and worms

acid rain in the eyes
acid rain on the brain
rain that eats the names
on old headstones
dissolves like a mouse
in mountain dew
long-dead bones
big mouthfuls of germs

oilwater pooling in the road
dive into the shallows
head first

die on a gray day
gorgeous with autumn colors

Charlie Smith Aug 2016

There are monsters in my head,
I'm afraid they want me dead.
They scream and whisper in my ears,
filling my mind with unusual fears.

I feel everyone's eyes in my back,
I am no longer safe, I fear an attack.
They're poisoning you with their food.
Can't you see you're being used

Stop it! Leave me! I thrash about,
I would give my life just to have them out.
Just give in to us, then you'll see
No, you'll never get the best of me.

Whiskey Trance Aug 2016

Why did I stop believing
might be a better question.
I was around 16.
By 19, I was
pretty much an atheist.
Before 16, well God was real.
I could talk to him every minute.
Did he talk back?
I didn’t think so.
Why did I stop believing
in everything?
That was how I survived,
by not believing.
I figured belief was what
got me into this problem
in the first place.
Was it Mary who came to visit,
or a more evil monster?
By 33...Why did it wait so long
before coming back?
Is belief just another hallucination?
A madman could have miraculous faith,
just like me.
Is it then, something beyond madness?
Do I now believe in order to survive?
So many questions.
And God only answers
when I’m not asking so bluntly.

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