domingo, março 24, 2013


I'm coming to that time in my life
When my nightmares are more comforting
Than my real life. 

Falling into the abyss or
being naked in public 
are nothing compared to the 
obnoxious monotony of daily life;
of superficial friends, delay fees, 
of the rush and busy that make it impossible to just stop
and look to the stars 
(unless you're on a romantic date, but that's another dread)

In my nightmares I'm powerless, but I can open my eyes, 
make a note on my dream notebook, 
roll over, have another one. 

In life, things remain as they are 
- no psychoanalysis necessary. 

Is this the sign of being a grown up? 
When one longs at night to ride nightmares into oblivion? 

SG, 8.1.13