Nightmares...

are like poetry,

At least metaphorically,

The metaphors are like falsified honesty,

So unreal and yet they express how we really feel,

Maybe that’s why we cannot dream

When we feel insane,

Because are honest nightmares are now the real deal,

So we lay still,

Eyes open,

Reality broken,

Stuck hoping,

That the ceiling has the answers

But it's shy

It hates talking,

We lay there thinking

What this life is,

What it represents,

Waging wars in our heads,

It’s a crisis of identity

When all the past mistakes

Leave so many things unsaid,

When those big dreams of the past have gone and fled,

Laying in our comfortable but uncomforting bed,

We ask ourselves

Who we could have been,

Who we could be,

If only those shooting stars could grant our wishes and help us see,

If each star in the sky...

Gave each person their identity,



If only it was that easy…

I guess for now we’ll just stay stuck...

With these identity crises

Sleepless nights
Endless gazing
My head hurts from staring at the ceiling.

Lonely bed
Empty sheets
What can I do to end this terrible feeling?

It’s just me here
You’re back at home
And I am wondering why I’m all alone

My eyes hurt
My heart aches
And still I can only reach you by phone.

I love you
You love me
That’s why I am here writing this poem

I miss you dear
You miss me too
You’re the one reason I want to come home

It hurts sometimes
It stops my rest
my eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleeping

My body is curled
My feet are cold
There's nothing that will stop me from weeping

A forfeited fight
Succumbing to sleepless nights
Silent surrender

Just another sleepless night.
My jaw doesn’t fit the pillow quite right,
I’ll be back in bed though after a while,
And it’ll just be another sleepless night.
If this were a dream I’d be flying outside
Or lying under stars bathed in moonlight,
If this were a dream, I’d be alright;
Yet a dream it is, and a sleepless night.

Snuggled up and cozy
I wait for sleep to meet me
My mind begins to wander
This won’t end well
I can already tell

I think about my life
My every joy and strife
Then your face appears
Here come the tears

I think of our relationship
I wonder if this is just a blip
You confuse me daily
So every night I review
To try to understand you

The tears are here
Because I’m filled with fear
That nothing will be changed
That we will always be strained

Your voice echoes in my head
But tonight it only evokes dread
I am begging for sleep
But only to wake up to
Another day of suffering over you

There’s no point in going to bed
Or closing the shutters on my eyes
Because I believe that sleep is for the dead
And rest I don’t prioritize

There is no American noise
When everyone else is quietly slumbering
One of my favorite parts about three AM
Is peace and tranquil wondering

My brain is like a pair of eyes
And the optometrist is changing the lens
Conjectures and notions are out of focus
Here and there and back again

My mind is an untuned radio
Thoughts, an endless garble of static
I’m swimming in between the airwaves
And my body functions are automatic

Languor sometimes hits me
Like a wave crashing on a shore
But soon enough it has dissipated
As if it was never there before

Count the circles ‘round my eyes
Like the rings on an ancient tree
How many sleepless nights am I at now?
Because melatonin is an escapee.

My spirit is miles and miles away
Wandering where it wants to
If only someone would bring it back
Since sleep is long past overdue.

Busted! Caught again
In a battle for your brain
Oh please, don't pretend

The nights! And the scares
Guilt built up inside your skull
Oh please, let it end

Curled, crying lies
Awake! Inside his eyes, glossed
In a withered glow

Oh! It asks as he
Blends into his wallpaper:
"Oh please, where'd you go?"

~Humanity, I don't know~

Draining life to fill it with
watered-down pain, can he feel now? If my teeth make
an appearance, you'll be given your fix of my 'happiness,'
injected through your cranium. I wish I could navigate my
naive wishes, as I'm sinking in my pillows, and the light on
the ceiling is winking at me as I'm patched up, written in 'unhappy'
My uncanny doubts are fancying a feathery gift of sleep,
unlike this fascination with
falling feet to my death of dreams-