Each morning I awaken
to a rousing chorus of alarm clocks
going off like time bombs, ticking ticking ticking
A time capsule disrupting me
from the pleasures of my dreamlike state of mind
The perfection of an inner monologue;
and I feel like I’m back at school again
with the face of a zombie,
trudging through classroom hallways
and sidewalks paved with anonymous donors.
without noticing I’m going the wrong way
as a part of me says, “You want this, don’t you?”
something too abstract to describe;
And that’s when I see the abstraction before me,
Every time it appears, I panic.
But I am nonetheless filled with a strange sense of calm.
A feeling of clarity of which I am startled by.
When the abstraction appears, I do not want to wake.
for what are dreams but our own lies;
I awake.
It’s the morning, and I’m supposed to be
going places, doing things
I might be inclined to do anywhere but here.
And the truth is in reality I’m not all there,
for my mind still wanders down
sidewalks paved with secrets.
we all dreamwalk to ward off the nightmares;
It’s not even morning at all,
but a lingering sensation of night,
an expressway of overabundance
that any dream could wallow in
for several hours, hoping to linger
long enough for the blast of reality
that snaps me back into a consciousness I often forget
and I’m dream-walking no more.
As you’re calling my name from the other side of the room,
so many feet away from me,
as you continue to say words
I don’t remember, though I should.
And so I no longer dream-walk,
But we all must go back to ward
off the nightmares we’re living in.
Constantly forgetting, always,
that every time we dream,
we bring a piece of our abstractions into reality.
But the weird part is, I don’t
recall writing any of it
so when I go back to sleep
will I relive the same dream
or will it call my name again?
for what is a nightmare but a lie
you can’t believe
