entry picture

Some produce from sleep deprivation...


Eyelids fall and so do we
from this rope a wishful me,
No ground to touch, no cold hard floor
fully circle, no breaks, so sure.

Or is it warm?
Does it cushion the smash?
Cover sharp corners, prevent the thrash?
Then there's the harness
stopping it all,
Those big icey eyeballs
Keeping you cool

I don't want the harness
I just want the fall,
I want to feel weightless
Some escape from it all.

Linear, forward
in a straight line,
The rope beneath us
ruling our minds,
Wanting to spiral
or dot-to-dot,
Craving the ricochet
wanting the lot.

Hoping and bursting wants from crows feet,
closed eyes and I trip to a different me.

conflictcuriositydilemmasdreamshopespipe dreamssleep

Textures of shame ►


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