Story of my [day] life

Sleep canst be the first priority, but it always finds itself there
I’ve slipped into non-existence, where the old man on the corner, always with his mockeries, carelessly says,
“Darling, I’ve found the way, I’ve discovered the place where canst thou go.”
Mocking the phrase: “You shall not pass” I resort to my eleven-year-old obsession.
Or maybe it was fourteen. I was older than should be allowed.
The charcoal I use for measly masterpieces every other morning stains my fingers to a dismal grey and nothing can hide it.
Should the grey behold something of embarrassment?
The sleep dream remembers that it has complete power and the glitter of my imagination lassos me in further.
My love is always present, talking with a faceless silhouette and only words in the shape of an online text can communicate with me,
He should be left alone, I shouldst leave him be.
The shrouds of my memory try to take control, but dreamland wont allow it.
It’s telling me I should let something new in whilst leaping through the stories of my days.
The world is vast and bright, says I.

“I am afraid.”


-bw