The Art of Not Rolling Back Into Sleep After Already Being Woken Up Once

the things that roll through my head as i start waking up, but lose when i open my eyes...

The very upturned moderation

Of waking out of dreams

Of your own accord

Such a sight to let live

And let die

On a word

In a phrase

Radiating from your eyes

Black and white with bits of neon

Thrown in for good measure

For the improbability of seeing
beyond the end of your fingertips

Nothing short of breathless

Please let me

(fall back asleep)

Whisper such sacred

Melodies

And play them back

Again

On repeat

So I can remember the words next time

Opening my eyes

Simply translates to having

Reality

Once again fall short

Of the written word

In every medium available

The backs of my eyelids burn

My retinas never stand to forget

Why can’t fantasy

Be my recreational area
So everything I feel can be real

And less controlled by longwinded

Self appointed geniuses

Changing the way my words taste

So I can never desire

Any out of body experiences

For the thrill

Of the high

So climaxing can fall short again

The lack of monotony

The world should be

My playground
Instead of my confines

Philosophy

And mories

To directly oppose a dreamers outlook

On what should happen

When her eyes are open

Oh s**t, my alarm clock

Is going to interrupt me again

 

(sometimes I just don’t want to get up

and face anything anymore)

 

Reviews

[Blake Q Hatfield]

Awsome poem. An interesting perspective of those last moments before we must awake to the so called real world.

[Erin]

Awesome, the same sort of focused to complete abandonment of purpose that we all feel but made so pretty lol :)
good job.