Give me rest.
The kind of slumber
that toddlers protest during naptime
but succumb to with a stream of drool
on their rested faces;
the kind of slumber
that enables my grandmother
to nap in a rocking chair
with a book teetering on the edge of her lap,
the sort of sleep
that wakes me up
an hour before the morning trumpets blast;

give me that,

because I'm tired
of the sheets clutching on to me
like handcuffs
engraved on criminal wrists.

The call to slumber was never so alluring,
Until nights you were near,
From warmth emitting your body,
To the scent of your hair,
The silhouette of your frame,
Shifting to meet the shapeliness of mine,
Like fingers meeting fingers our bodies lay intertwined.

Peacefully we lie.
Arms draped securely around you,
Your head snug aloft my breast,
Forehead resting lightly against my chin,
Delicate glances upward,
Affectionate are the kisses given.
Ear to chest—sound of the finest heartbeat,
Floating further toward slumber with each pounding melody...

I hate to sleep.

The monsters and demons and sins and wraiths run rampant in my mind, and my control is lost. Control is key. Every impulse, every little tiny thought, leads me closer to madness. Slumber is madness creeping in upon me when I cannot steal myself from it.

Late to bed, and early to rise, leaves the insanity hidden until the day she dies.

The walking, the talking, the revealing of my truest thoughts occur when in slumber, and I hate it. That's why I don't sleep, that's why I'm last, always last, because I know that's when the crazy comes to play.

Lust, Gluttony, Vanity, Envy, Wrath, Greed, Sloth. All seven swirl in my veins, with a chesire smile concealing the truth of them. They swirl in all veins, they play their devil games in the night for everyone, but for me, its different. It always will be.

Seven little friends swimming in my head, begging me to become someone I am not. I'm not in love, but the *** is good. The mirror is a comrade in arms. The green of my eyes is for more than just genetics. The fat on my legs has a secret agenda. I feel the sickness of anger in my heart but it never shows. My selfish wiles are secret, but they are there, always screaming. And when boredom creeps, I let the angels weep.

I hate slumber, for all seven play their seductive little games inside the holes in my head, and I can never be free of it. I fear who I am when I sleep, for its not the face I know.

But with you, I slept.

That astounds me.

This morning
I awoke from a tangle of dreams
from wild feelings
in the jungle of my heart
The morning sun
sliced through
the slumber
like machetes
just in time
to bring me to
a clearing
to my reality.

(c) 2014

yet we creep up silent as shadows
intent on unburdening our weights
heavily they sit on your slumbering brow
seeping into your unsuspecting ears
whispering in no language but our own
and yours
unlocking the doors
you have no way to bolt shut

pleasing ourselves with your displeasure
secure only about
unbalancing what you so carefully stacked
too high at night
scuttling about with our black sacks
full of your empty thought
where bad is thick with luck
try as you might we bid you wait

like ropes dangling freedom to wrath
cutting through swathes of long grass
to find the well beaten paths
abandoned by weak arms
lamely lying limp as sloths
beyond recall in pits of harm
which with a slight push
we slip you down

your bedroom window open
thinking that would keep us away
but our breath is shallow
faces there in an unblinking sway
emerging with more than you know
for you are the fool to be this way
ready to meekly follow
asleep and at our mercy
hahaha hello

we revel in your past
misdemeanours too small
mountains you cannot surpass
weep as many demons as you will
we travel the underpass
shoulders heaving against our pull
tattooed trees
skirts stained from trailing ghouls

yes we sink into listening with you
oblivious to surreal screams
padding ever closer on queue
staging midnight soliloquies
footprints elbowed from view
on the side of your bed sheets
you'd rather not go
yet we whisper no threats
we're only dreams you know

Smooth out the wrinkles
before I sleep
don't forget
to tuck in the sheet
chill the fluffed pillows
sprinkle soft scents
floating light as air
off to sleep I went

I awake from a dream of love,
a love that exists between
you and me.

The love born of daily commitment,
a tender word even when our muscles
ache and our hearts are heavy.

Our love is born from slumber,
a long forgotten time when we
walked in paradise connected to all of creation.

A love born out of suffering and shared experiences,
a love that grows from each day waking up to gaze
into each other's eyes.

I am grateful that our love is more than a dream: an echo of our subconscious memories
from our long forgotten past.

Our love is a reality
here and now.