Another One

I hear whispers of "wake up" but this dream has me head-locked into submission of nauseating ache and disillusionment. It's a night terror that's beginning to feel like a routine swallow of uncomfortable toleration. The scene is set. The rolls are played. I look devastation in the face. I watch the peddles fall one by one from the one I love. My heart is slowly and consummately torn. My breath fails to return to me and I stand there fading in plain sight. Numbness consumes my flesh and blood. My soul has died with my love. I weep. I weep? Pain is still prevalent? I wake.

I gasp from the pain that has stalked me to my consciousness. The twisted sheets circles my body with a halo of sweat. My heavy breathing dampens the sound of my pounding heart. I sit up and wonder when it will end.

Fear

So much fear in such a small place. The universe stretches on for life times yet all we know is the fear in our face. It's the fear we wake up to every morning. It's the fear that keeps us up at night. Hot beads of sweat suffocate our dreams. We thrust lights on, bolt doors, build barriers, and still it haunts our souls.

We fight at... nothing. Something's there, but we swing and have no satisfaction in destruction of anything, scream but can't hear the echos of anger.

Quiet Light

The curtains frame the gray sky and the window panes transform the light as I watch you sleep. You lay still under a blue lit room. Silence swallows the world and we are left alone. Tempting illumination graces your silk peach skin, your face glows with sincerity and innocence. My eyes explore your silhouette as my hand falls gently onto your side. It slides down your supple skin as I brase firmly, your lush curves. I drift in and out of sleep as time drifts with us.

Contradistinction of Adoration

Contusion, confusion, no conclusion, a freight train of pain. Love falls like rain, washing away worries, miniscule flurries, like the old stories. It feels impressed and preserved with the seal of years of Clark Gables and fairy tale fables. Til thunder strikes and pikes the spikes of divorce and diverge, of difference and distance. We run like ants, everything to fear, losing everything we hold dear.

I am insane, inane, sick of games. I want you happy, you make me sappy. I want you content, you make me resent. I am deranged, drained, and proclaimed. I am vivacious, audacious, and free. This is what you make me.