Stained Monochrome Wings

Death of the Sandman

03-23-13

I'm falling asleep at the keys

Dysfunction desecration.

Mind numb, like all thoughts,

all colors dulled and eyelids heavy.

I can’t sleep, I can’t go to sleep.

I don’t want to sleep.

The dreams they come,

more like nightmares.

Poisonous. Diverged

between sleep and safety.

Beginning in my youth,

kindling my inferno with a fury of fists.

Outbreak of punches,

barraging my body

in the interior of

nocturnal existence.

Safely I sleep no more,

hallucinations creep in.

Spiders, crows, bats, corpses;

reality is no more.

Contorted with fictitious lies

caused by the illicitly

Deplorable, dying,

expressing lachrymose.

Schizophrenia: the genuine distort,

instigated because of

unsystematic pedigree.

Days go by, no revolution in sight.

The same outbreaks,

same screams

and perversities behind

protected doors.

In the end, we’re all just moribund,

deteriorating and ragged

desiring one thing,

the Sandman,

but he’s dead too.