sleep, the supposed reprieve from the realities we percieve
i remember when my parents told me i could dream of anything
as a child i found this thrilling
one night i could dream of being a superhero
and another in a candy shop with free reign
innocent and fleeting dreams
but no, they never were what i wished them to be
reality bored its way through my mind to not only torment in consciousnous
but inside me as well
now the dreams are feared
they are malicious
ripping the innards out of what was once my mind
now im just a banquet
ive always wondered why they became so powerful, so taxing on me
how did i go from cotton candy clouds to a sky raining down fire?
from superheros to demons ripping through everything with glee
if sleep wasnt a neccessity i would forgo it entirely
instead im left to this, spilling my thoughts out onto deaf ears
hitting each key with haste as if i cant create the words fast enough
and for what purpose?
i have none
i have no reasoning
hell maybe this is the final dream
the one left with wonder of the unknown future riddled with paths of fire and broken glass
and ive already tried to pinch myself awake