My life is a fever dream.

My life is a fever dream. Characters fade in and out, most of

whom I'm not sure ever existed in the first place, faint bruises

around my wrists that remind me of all the people who wouldn't

let me go, but I blink and those too, have disappeared. A song I

think I used to love comes on the radio and my ears ache from the

sound, they ache and it moves into my heart and this too, lives in

the space between reality and fantasy. I'm no longer me, I'm no

longer myself, but that self was just a construct so maybe I'm the

one living in someone else's dream, and will vanish as soon as they

open their eyes. It's 3 am and I question where you are, only

abstractly, because I know where you are and it's not here. My

palms are sweaty and my throat is sore and I wonder if I've been

screaming in my sleep again, but there's no one here to tell me. I

close my eyes, massage the pain that is throbbing in my legs and I

imagine that I've been running again. From what or whom, I

don't know. I run and run and scream and scream but all there is

for certain are these four walls and the shadows in the corners. I

move to them, living as a ghost suits me I think, so I peer at the

world from the darkened recesses, hoping that someone

somewhere will conjure me back to life. It's 6 am and I close my

eyes just as the sun is crawling its way over the horizon. My fever

has broken and I know who I am again, if only for this brief

moment, and I want so badly to believe it's enough.

This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741