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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #2193376
The dreams of insomniacs.
I've never had a drowning dream.

The swim is
an enormous blue road to take.
It never felt like me
when I never felt so free.
It has a heartbeat of its own.
There is a fullness in the undertow.

I've never woken up from a drowning dream.

The mist is a play;
three acts to pay
attention to before going
         overboard.
One part patently absurd.
Another disturbed,
while anarchy symbolizes
         the third.
The mist is a play
that tries to smooth me away.

I've never overcome a dream.

The sweat and drool
of a long night's hard work
         coming true
isn't worth the evidence.
Not the complacency. Not the relevance.
Tortured in my sleep
is the water that seems to keep
         me alive.
         Where I subside.
And that airy water won't leave me alone.
And that airy water won't leave me alone.

I'm full of dreams
that keep sinking me.

         32 Lines, "Sated from "World By Design.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2193376