Untitled

my inner suspicion tells me that nights are luminous in dreams.
dreams are dark to thoughts
but open to feeling

dreams are the hands slipping around your neck when
you feel you can't bear to breathe
a toxic disbelief of reality that parades around your
inner existence
a tourniquet that cuts off real from real

dreams spit at you when you look them in the eye
the reason you wake screaming
clutching your memory in bleeding hands

lost inability to keep the peace in mind
but I can't seem to see my way through the dark
it's too cold and my hands are white
covered in dark gloves sporting holes in the fingers

dreams are. . . just fairy tails in disguise.

Crystina Marie Lopez

Copyright ©2006 Crystina Marie Lopez