June 8, 2013
Summer Dreams

Head forced up and out from
the bucket of liquid dreams
turned rotten, I gasp for air.

Rising from the darkest
depths of nightmare
to sunlight at 6AM.

Forget the Saturday morning lie-in.

Stumble down stairs
and fall into the kitchen,
beg the kettle to start.

A month this has gone on,
a month of violent imagery.
Death sequences.

Schizophrenic episodes.

How do you even dream
of something not horrible?

Just one clean night’s sleep
in twenty, that’s all I want.

I started writing this poem
to try and force an escape, now
it’s ended without answer…

but at¬†least the kettle’s boiled.


  1. ndru-wins posted this