Dreams Come True

Night.

A living death.

In my chest and

In my head.

Unconcious,

I lay in wake.

Sifting through my dreams

Until you arrive.

 

I don't know you.

We have yet to meet.

But every night,

You torture my sweet sleep.

Torture, because I know you are dead.

Only dead things

Come into my head.

 

Yet I treasure our time

Though death is a crime,

The second your heart stopped

It melted, entwined —

To mine.

 

Listless,

The waters churn.

Boiling,

Is my blood's yearn.

 

It saddens me to know

You're trapped;

My mind, 

your prison.

 

You look peacefully distressed.

Discomfort, but in rest.

Stationary, in trust.

Frozen, in lust.

 

Not a night goes by

When you don't haunt

My insides.

But I welcome you

With an open mind.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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