The sleepless dreamer longs
to slip into the midnight peace,
for he is ever lost in reveries
but never sleeps.
What wicked, dreadful curse
occludes the mind from intervening?
Truly, none have suffered worse
than he – that’s damned…
to dream of dreaming.
What is left of me
but the hologram I see?
where my portrait should be…
But I am elegant
in the ways I twist, and I bend,
and I take the shape of something
I should not have been.
Stretch, to see what is left in me
in the absence of dreaming.