as much as i tried
to dream of the bad things,
i only dreamed of you,
which was good.

but then again,
maybe you were
actually bad.

In my dreams, it seems
there are means for meaning to convene,
an odd mind space in between
what exists and what is unseen;
often intangible serene,
grand, surreal, green
but just a dream it seems,
just a dream a dream a dreeeaaaammmm
coming undone at the seams
ethereal threads, silky sheen
a dimension where the mind teems
a shoulder for my soul's body to lean
my vivid, living dream

There is nothing wrong with being attracted to beauty
it is a beautiful thing
magnetics and irony
amethyst and memories
black fist of power
proud ovaries breathe melanin magic
hearts of silk spun
resilience is narcissistic too
you know
revolution can declare martial law too
maybe it already did
you would not know yet
the coal used to be us
now we are diamonds
stolen from the earth because of our sheen
our glimmer stuns the most magnificent darkness
a teal sunset sparks the imagination
hallucinating smoking quartz

Abilify
you seemed to amplify
the monster inside me

Vivid dreams
of a devil in the driver seat,
Mirrored back
in my rearview, 
on the way to a crime scene
in my mind
where one of our sisters
was given plastic surgery
via shotgun

A crackling static
tears through my brain
and takes me
to the Ideation of 
self-inflicted martyrdom

Idealized death
put on a pedestal

hanging
in a basement
Of the subconscious

Until I wake up and suffer

I've
Had enough of
the akathisia

I can’t ******* sit still
I feel like 
my heart is going to beat out of me
When I’m already light-headed
I see me from outside me

Depersonalized!
this blood is poisoned 
with restless impulses

I can’t fight
or flight
just freeze 
and pulsate
an S.O.S.
to the telegraph 
at the other 
end of this the 
other half of
This sorry soul:

*If pain is a void 
I can feel you missing 
Where the doctor
Filled the hole
With prescriptions.

Will you hold me,
hold me,
until these looping
distress calls
cease?

it’s a dream
under cities’
block bricks
a small house
like canvas
squats cut out,
array of colour
not black
or grey, or white,
is tangerines
and strawberries
paper works,
also a ribbon
picket fence
take a stick to
beat of a ribcage
diagnose blame
too memorable
no serious future
says this dream
it’s a lucid one.

Hop aboard.
It's a free trip, anyway.
No more dread, no more yesterday.
Tonight we're going to cloud nine.
Put your suitcase above your seat.
Kick back, relax, go to sleep.
On the dream train,
we see tomorrow with our clenched fists.

My tongue misses the dance with yours
Like thirsty sand on a draughtful shore
Not doubtful, I’m sure you will quench me again
Like it lost from beginning, till what lies on end

My bed has been sinking to only one side
Some eyelids fall sneaking atop these eyes
Wafting the moon with me while the sun starts to hide

Under the foot of my bed
I see you tonight only in my head

Only in my head

My Id creates my sleeping dreams,
Our Super-Id our World
Or Universe
Perhaps.

I think I’m alone with you,
But that’s not so.
For when I sleep, Something provides those dreams.
They say it’s the Subconscious, or the Id
But whatever it is,
I’m totally at its mercy.

They say that when you “lucid dream”
You realise you are dreaming
And can take control.
I’m not convinced!

Sure, when lucid you can steer that dream somewhat,
But once that horse decides to bolt
You are Lost.

I need to write some rules for dreams,
A code of conduct for myself and you:
When dreaming:
Never leave a room for it will vanish.

Lost your things?
Don’t go chasing them!
Wait for them to come to you.

Find yourself undressed?
Don’t worry,
You’ll soon be clothed again.

When you lose your way back home,
Don’t search,
Just stand and wait
For home to come find You.

Think driving
And you’ll maybe have a car
Around you!

Think friends
And soon they’ll all appear.

Oh yes my Id remains my boss for sure,
And heaven forbid I ever have “waking dreams” –
“Monsters from the Id” indeed!
A “Forbidden Planet” I’d hate to face.

But with some late-night meditation,
Maybe I can manage,
My crazy sleeping dreams
A little bit.

As for that “Super Id”,
Well that’s another story.

Paul Butters