I’ve been asleep
inside my head
my pillow is soft
but my blanket like lead
falling off
it slips
I doze
My feet come cold
my toes
exposed
I tug and turn
inside my dream
I pull and stretch
and tear the seam
And in my sleep
I spill the wind
dreams of
frosts that ****
and a sun that grins
Now with the chill
against my chest
I wake with eyes
that find no rest
between winter sheets
I’m as cold as dead
It’s just a leak
in my waterbed

You carry with you pick-pocketed fairytales
In hopes to find something close enough to home
That can fill your glass half-full
You sew yourself into white noise
Soak your hands in spring waters
That rush down memory lanes
Putting together a mosaic
of the greener grass you saw
On the other side
Stitching together fragments of light
From the end of the tunnel
Even bought yourself some rose coloured glasses
To see the silver lining of every cloud
But it all falls short
When the tree stops bearing lemons
So, what does life give now?
Besides some shade and something to laugh about...

Now I lay me down to sleep, mind naught but unwound thread,
the nearly risen sun prepared to rear its ugly head.
No mowing, honks, or rooster’s crow, but sounding in their stead:
my racing thoughts, your steady breath, all time suspended here in bed.

the noxious dragon in the spine awakens
some kind of poisoned Kundalini
stretches upwards, burrows downwards
sends out spiral tendrils across tendons
enraged villi seeking
something, anything
to sink themselves into and cause
neural ruination
a kinetic torment raging

In lethargies grip and restless mind,
I come again upon the day.
Where demons of my minds design,
find acres bare to frolic and to play.

An emptiness that invades my core,
until only black thought dwells in there.
Where tiredness is all I can feel,
and darkest depression is thoughts heir.

No calming thoughts to ease my mind,
and no safety can my lost soul yet feel.
The endless sensation of putrid stagnation,
no layers to other emotions have I left to peel.

Foreboding and deep weariness dark as shadow,
accompanies each thought and task within my day.
And though I seek escape by non-participation,
against thought there is no strategy I can play.

Turmoil to life's patterns of sleep and wakefulness,
where a soul and mind each attacks my own mortality.
Until left with just one clear and rational thought,
Of how simple and complete my final escape can be.