The anger turns within,
metastasizes there,
growing into your soul,
maybe you’re unaware
that the dividing line
between what you feel
and what is real,
is you.
Dreams are all nightmares.
There is no “Good-Night”,
just a descent into Hell,
praying you wake each night.
Begging for this to end,
it’s a beguiling force,
shaping your waking hours;
you are what you dream,
of course.
Our skins haven’t touched,
our lips have never spoke,
our tongues haven’t formed the words,
yet it’s an inside joke.
Tension and could-have-beens
make us so vulnerable,
that when I turn away,
you feel horrible.
We have never shared a moment
that’s worthy of revenge,
but when once feels wronged,
what do they do then?
I’ve heard the best recourse
is in living well,
but instead we burn,
turn living into Hell.
On purpose, or mistake,
careless, or by design;
we manifest our dreams,
make real what’s inside.
Not like we have a choice,
made in the maker’s mind,
we form reality;
it’s what we leave behind.
When we are gone,
asleep
in the endless dream.
What will we make then?
What will we see?
Will we be free
from pain
and manifest only beauty?
Who knows?
You know how it goes.
Dreams are horrible truths.
HG – 2018
