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.
.

Then.

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.

*

NIGHT! 🙃🖤

personal communications, December 2018
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