I never dream
I am grateful for that

You used to experience night terrors

No idea why
They occured every single night when you were young

I have nothingness until morning wakes me up with a brutal slap to the face

You occupy daydreams though
It is odd that in that realm you still retain that indifferent demeanor
As if I have conjured up your essence for a few minutes

Peculiar how you talk to me in the familiar condescending tone I have grown used to the past two years

Unusual because I would rather picture you the way I always yearned for you to be

My mind consistently has worked in a literal process though

Someone who left skull strives to remember exactly as they were

So in matter of seconds
Brain's wandering fantasies quickly transform into nightmares

Every occasion

So I attempt not letting my head wander these days

No amount of discipline enough to stop it

The harder I try containing it the more it roams

Through a tunnel I walk.
Stumbling upon the demons I stalk.
Straining to understand their words.
Yet afraid of what their message may hold.
The walls and path are all ablur.
As further along I do blunder.
Stumbling and falling,
To rise once more.
Searching for a magical door.
To release me from this caliginous gambit.
Then the goblins and trepidation omit,
To deliver me anew to the suns bright glare.
And release me once more from the captivity of despair

~

dark early pre-dawn

body suspended between the-dark ochre earth tones of night,
and the teal pealing notes of warning of an impending morning,
signs aborning, me rising with urgency of the leaden half deaden,
torn from the bed casket to venture into a different kind of twi-lights,
nature demanding both intake and outtake, a restoration of balance

but first a bumbling wobbling, the body as carnival bumper car,
installing soon-to-be-bruising for later examination-exhumation,
lurching from handhold crevices in the walls like crazy cliff climbers,
my balance disturbed, eyes try  tearing apart the sticky glue of night,
my sense of direction keeping me from free falling into green glass
edges of glass tables, barely, and not always, red cuts evidentiary

“my balance disturbed” words fresh formed, and a poem expulsion
required to balance the unjust scales of spirit soul and the body cage,
patch an negotiated agreement between warring cousins, just a
twenty four hour ceasefire to retrieve the wounded and the
corpses unfounded in the small copses of false shelter,
like my ancestors expelled from Spain, making escape to be
strangers in strange lands, or remain hidden in place neath disguises
of clothes of new poems, prayers for old and new gods

this new poem comes quick like a young man making first love,
for the poem has been written by thousands nights of practicing,
so ready for quick retrieving in a smattering of a few minutes,
expulsion expulsion
what a perfect verbiage to capture the night terrors, the differentials,
the procession path between what was and what will be,
when my balance restored and this poem’s completion installation
in the body of my work, as a nail disguised in the works of my body,
entering by command of the pitch black gods

cold sweat
feet tingling
blood rushing
heart pulsing

away
from
the
terrors
within

fitful, but not fulfilling
shadows prowl through my mind
failed attempts to cast doubt
into the farthest reaches

nevertheless

hairs stand on end
soldiers awaiting a threat not realized
goosebumps appear on the skin--
landmines that have risen from hell
I brace myself for the war

that never comes

as my eyes snap open
awakening from a slumber
that was

alas--
just a nightmare

It’s you I call to in my dreams,
To pull me out from the fear I’ve seen.
The ones that hold me in captured fright,
When slow motion kicks in,
And my screams are no more than wheezing murmurs,
When my thoughts are running faster,
But my motions slow to a crawl,
Drawing out the torture of the moment,
But this time you don’t hear my strangled call for help,
Maybe my will isn’t strong enough to transcend,
From this dream state at this time,
God help me if I have to see out this nightmare,
I focus and force my broken earthy plight across the dream dimension,
Desperate to reach the woken world,
But still you don’t save me,
The nightmare encroaches,
The panic builds within me,
I choke,
There's no sound from me,
Which means you won’t know to wake me,
The impending realisation hits me like final last words,
My frightened whisper rasps and splutters,
I hear an old line in my head -
If you die in a dream then you die in real life...
My panic turns to savage rage and I scream,
I scream in defiance for I won’t be broken here,
I scream in the face of all my fears,
I scream so strong and loud,
That I tear a rip in the fabric separating my dream and reality,
It doesn’t slow my impending fate,
It ebbs closer still and I feel the acrid warmth wash over my face,
Just as I release my last defiant scream,
You reach for me,
Like an anchor reaching through the depths,
Pulling me back,
Shaking me awake from behind,
Everything fades in an instant as you pull me out of my slumbered suicide,
You heard me through the hole I made,
I open my eyes to the safety of familiarity,
Back in my bed,
My safe bed in my own room,
Next to you,
My night saviour,
But then,
As familiar reality surrounds me,
I look back and still see my dream,
For a second,
Just a moment,
My fear has followed me into my reality,
Through the tear I made to save myself,
Both worlds momentarily co existing,
Real fear grips me as I realise in that moment ,
The protection from the woken world has faltered.
Everything stops,
My heart stops,
Time stops,
I stare into the abyss for what feels like an eternity,
Then you speak and your words are like silver light,
And just like that,
Fear is gone,
Are you ok you ask,
Everything is normal again,
I’m fine I say,
Go back to sleep,
It was just a night terror.

his breath woke me up every night
we lay in bed; no, it wasn't
that his breath smelled of toxins,
but of dandelions and poppies.
his hair smelled like he rolled around in
fields of roses and he was
the single dandelion that begged and
pleaded to fit in.
he would never fit
in but he didn't know that, so
he kept trying and it was
so beautiful to say the least.
underneath his skin, in-between
his veins and his bones are tiny seeds that
i planted with kisses and they
grow with my love, when i wrap my
bony arms around him and
squeeze tightly - it lets him
know that he's not normal, that he's
not right in the head but
i love that. so when he wakes me
in the middle of the night, as
i lie between him and the emptiness of
the night, i think that i'm dying
but the moon light lingers and i
know i am safe with his flower breath
and the weeds growing in-between
us and the roots that grow out
of my heels and strangle the love
picture frames on our off-white
bedroom wall. i stare at those cookie-cutter
pictures and wish i wasn't right
in the head, too, but if we both were
psychotic, he wouldn't be a dandelion.
so i stay awake and watch
his beauty radiate in the darkness of
the night and wish that i
was that beautiful too. but he
tells me that my battle wounds don't
amount to anything to him, that my skin
is a ghost to him. i wish
he saw me for me, but his eyes
see the beauty that he grows.
but several nights he leaves me and
i am cold and i am worthless and
i pray to a god that he will
come back and taunt me because
i cannot stand it when he is
not here between my fragile arms
keeping me warm and safe.
i beg him when he returns to just
stay the night, just one more night,
because i cannot bare to
sleep without the dandelion amidst
all the rose petals. i need
my dandelion to keep me safe
and to be the needle in the
haystack - i need him to be in my
arms because idon'twanttosleepalone.