a tepid dream

that follows me

reminder of the time

i lay wasted

as if

the days, the years,

the seconds

weren’t so damn precious

an irrevocable dream

that tugs my slumber

dastardly disturbed

so that any illusions

i attempt to hold

get pushed out of consciousness, as i

lay unconscious.

a shout that gnaws

but manifests as a

quiet yet unyielding

dissatisfaction

so that

dreaming becomes

an ache so restless

that sleep must be

pulled from the light

of day instead

tepid dreams of boring minutiae

which lay judgment

to my waking hours

for its opposite

is scarce

with that —

the blame lies

both within myself

and the lies we tell.

so only when i

wake from illusions

with a feverish fervor

can these tepid dreams

fall asleep by wayside —

and make space for settled satisfaction