ruminations before bed, 12.3.18

My bones flutters from the basic terror that inhabits my daily struggle.
Struggle forward.
My rickety but willfully unable body. I’ll stay strong in reserve.
But at last the sweet release of rest, of consciousness paused.


Before the dreams formed of realist trample this once lucid ground.

Usually for dreams, I create the set and the characters. Morning brings new color to my set.

But, no. Not tonight.

It’s been a year of the same season of unconcenting nightmares.


Disorder and helplessness revisited.
This ground is taken at dawn, as my conciousness comes back to me so does a surrealist hellscape, I call it rest.
Dazzed I’ll wait in the calm to review the scene. Noting the offenses.
Waiting to be unraveled by what comes next.

The dawn.

Billed overdrawn by mental illnesses, so fucking rude.


Maybe I’m close my eyes a barging for rest, pressing the snooze button 4 or 6 times.


I’ll wade back into distorted waters searching for that island of rest.



*It is almost one in the morning time to find my self deprecating cognitive dissonance of the repetition of it all.



personal communications, December 2018

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