And the neighbour's child said
she sprinkled sugar on her bedsheets
because she wanted to have sweet dreams.
All terrible jokes aside,
dreams are difficult to remember.
When I tell you I have sweet dreams,
I mean today I remember my dreams--
they don't have to be pleasing.
In my dreams, I burnt the horizon
and watched the sky bleed storms.
I trapped two hurricanes inside a revolver
and shot lightening to the stars.
I remember your hands.
I remember your hands before they transmuted into kitchen knives
in between a handshake.
I remember the blood dripping and burning
on every fading footprint,
but I do not remember walking down the snowfield--
I do not remember how I healed.
When I tell you I have sweet dreams,
I mean today I remember my dreams--
they don't have to be pleasing.
The surrealism makes me wish to never wake up to reality.
I have learnt that there is nothing certain
in this world.
Certainty is not definite, only comparative:
and so is perfection.
Dreams are elusive works of art,
the only place close to fantasy and perfection.
But dreams are partly relative to reality,
so it is still not entirely perfect--
nightmares are also dreams.
And sleep paralysis doesn't sound pretty either.
The human brain is more active while asleep than awake
and in this stage, our movements are restricted.
When you try to wake up before this stage is complete,
only your senses are conscious.
You are stapled brittle paper pinned on a notice board, no one notices.
You are nailed to the surface of your bed,
every metal resting inside your joints
but you cannot feel a slice, a twist--
the tearing of a ligament.
Your body is a tied sacrifice
placed on a railway, unable to move.
You can hear the speeding train approaching,
but there is no speeding train.
In this state, you will struggle for your body
to return to the same reality
you wished to break out of.
When I tell you I have sweet dreams,
I mean today I remember my dreams--
they don't have to be pleasing.
I have learnt that there is no true comfort
on either side of the coin,
no matter how carefully you flip.
YOU ARE READING
Anxiety and Things that Shatter
Poetry"Anxiety, you are lightening and a thunder only I can hear. In my despair, you wear an intimidating smile like a glittering stretch mark on the skin of the horizon." Cover by @DeathsDarkSoul
