Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
punk rock hippy Jul 2014
Hallucinating for a cause.
Seeing how I act unconscious.

Mom I swear to god I'm fine!
This is research.  
I'm closet to god when I sleep. I thought you  wanted that?

My studies show that I can't throw a ******* punch when under attack.

My knees lock up at the exact moment it's time to run.

My screams can't leave my teeth.  

I watch this wide awake while sleeping.

I can't find god anywhere,
I believe in him
He doesn't believe in me.

When I dream
I don't just dream.
Chloe Elizabeth Jul 2014
You sent me a text
at 3 a.m.
asking me if I was awake
and why I was awake
but you didn't really think it through

You said getting through the day
is easy
because you have distractions
but at night it gets too hard
to forget about all the reasons
you loved me
and remember all the reasons you left

But next time,
I won't be there to answer
your 3 a.m. text
because I'll be sleeping
and dreaming of you
and remembering all the reasons
why I need to move on

By Chloe Elizabeth
I lie here awake
That's good. It's morning.
But my eyes still burn for sleep
Too bad. Get up.
My thoughts don't flash in the usual way, but ooze: Jello down a slight decline
Don't care. Get up.
My arms are weighed down by exhaustion
There's work. Get up.
But...
Get.
Up.




Fine.
Pretty much every morning for me
Chris Weallans Jul 2014
Your name is a whisper
the slow serpentine hush
the almost sound of breath
like breezes or brushes
ocean breakers gushing
in a rush of water
flushing in the dry sands

it rumours in the air
like sudden awareness
or lovers unwinding
in glimmering moon-glow
their silver bodies spent

I have nothing to bring
only the dress of stars
from the far velvet night.
A moment’s blistered flare
A glimpsed winking sky
Between the curtains’ folds

I breathe these few slight words
dance on the rim of dawn
to make a stuttered prayer
in my trembling fingers

Now I wait in seconds
in slumbering minutes
on the day’s bright harbour
counting the rosary
of your voyaging sleep
Chance Jul 2014
I'm having trouble getting out of bed lately.
It seems id rather dream because that's the only place i don't hate me.

Cynicism is my confucianism bury my coffin shallow so i can still fell the rain.

I can't stand the lack of pain.
-CRM
Life Jun 2014
They said, I should pretend that she was sleeping
That dying wasn't so bad
And I should have faith,
Hope,
That she would wake up
To cradle me in her arms again

But she didn't.
The tubes crawling under her skin
Only grew in numbers.

This would be her fight
Struggling by herself
Her foes outnumbering her
Slithering down her throat
Suffocating her,
They make her breathe
Gliding under her soft skin,
They are nourishing her

They are inside of her!

She looks like life has almost left her,
And now, the snakes **** out the last of all that is her
Her warmth
Her softness
Her plumpness
They say it isn’t so
But I am not blind

They say, it might not be too late,
But only Rigor Mortis is late
Nonetheless, he will come
Along with his hooded brother
Just because her limbs are not stiff
Does not mean she hasn’t passed *limbo
Extended poem
Kelsey Greene Jun 2014
I understand now
Why an increase in sleeping
Is a warning sign for depression.

Being sad?
It's a tiring thing to be.

Constantly exerting every ounce of your energy
Trying to appear happy to those around you.

When others ask if you're okay
"yeah, just tired"
easily becomes the automatic response.

Maybe because it's halfway true,
You are tired,

You're tired of life

Of things always seeming to go wrong
Instead of right

Tired of people letting you down

Of your dad drinking
Or your parents fighting.

You're tired of being tired
But most of all you're tired of being sad.

Sleeping,
That's the only time you can really get away
From all the tired.

It's when your mind wonders to a different life

One where the words
"Just tired"
Don't exist.

I think that's why people sleep so much when their sad.

Their dreams
Are so much better
Than reality.
O dear Morpheus, for thy rest be no disturbance in thee?
For thy sole ideas be neither order nor structure in flow?
Fear I sense for thy sacrèd inmost sanctum closes its eye.
This is a Sijo that I wrote one morning after having trouble sleeping. Its language is mostly influenced by William Shakespeare (hence the grave accent).

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
Next page