chewing sleeptalking speak dream word nonsense half-truth in somnia some veritas

September 3, 2011

if i could bury my face in the colours til they ran down my skin and bled blue and ink-shine and grey and green and gold, red as the dawn flush against the pale imprints of my memory i want i think to die

to die, to sleep- to sleep, perchance to dream, ay, there’s the rub.

no.

just reading, and realising how well I fit back into the silence of the mind, how completely my brain closes into the story to the exclusion of all else. how comforting, how comfortable. how familiar, and yet the word is too close. it is simply as natural as breathing, as being, to be in a story when you pick up a book, and not yourself.

I am not allowed to be not-myself. When I resurface, you’re still here.

You’re like the crutch one comes back to, the friend one falls back on. I’m sorry, God.

you are still waking me, day after day, in the head, in the heart. little bits of waking.

thank you for loving me like this.

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