Used To Be A Home

I’m tired of my dreams
and their surreal realities
They taunt me with memories

Riping screams from me
and torturing me
I long to abandon them

They make me miss you all
those passed and yet to come
My dreams used to be a home

Feverish Dreams

My dreams plague me with vivid realities so farfetched and daunting I’ve no choice, but to run. My feet pound against barren dirt, stirring dust into the air. Despite the burning feel of it, I must push on.
 
Glancing behind me, I see a pack of wolves. Scratch that. They’re much bigger than wolves. Much faster, too. Their snarls echo off the cave walls I’ve been placed in by my overactive imagination. I know it’s not real and yet my heart races.
 
Teeth sink into my calf and I fall forward with a scream. The wet, slickness of blood drips down my leg and sends these unknown creatures into a frenzy. Their bites shred my arms to ribbons.
 
Just when I’m about to pass out, I have been transported to the centre of a storm. No shelter in sight. But of course, I say to myself and will my sleeping self to rouse. It’s of no use.
 
The rain shifts from small drops to heavy bullets, or so it feels. My skin tingles and bruises under the assault. Thankfully my limbs are restored and I can run towards the edge of the clouds. The ground is wet and I slip with each step. Mud grabs my shoe off and I keep running, leaving it to the land. I can see the sun shining beyond the black clouds and I yearn for its serenity.
 
It’s too late, though. Hail the size of watermelons falls from the clouds. Lightning forks, stabbing at my tiny presence on the ground. The thunder sounds like laughter amidst the roar of the storm.
 
For the first time in years, I stop running. I stand in the centre of the chaos and let the storm strike me down. It doesn’t take long. Both hail and lightning hit me and it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever felt.
 
I wake with a shout and feel my head, inspect my pillows for blood. Everything’s wet from my sweating heat and my skin’s red. Upon closer inspection, I see white forks winding under my skin, following my veins.
 
Not again, I think and lapse back into darkness.
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Hurt does Hurt

Hearts house many things
     Not all are fluffy dreams.
           Some are the darkest beings
                Demons dressed as sheep.
                      They dwell in broken children
                            Crying into the night.
 
       Answering prayers for vengeance
             Their darkness can only spread.
                    Bullies’ words are their weapons
                          Weighted like sharp boulders.
                                 Lashing out in violence
                                       These demons scar another’s life.
 
                  The blackest of evils
                        help those who cannot rise
                              Not with encouragement
                                    But knives dressed as lies.
                                         Sharpened by daily suffering
                                                They seek out their vicious prey.
 
If only kind words were cheap
           They might help save a life.
                        But hey, we’re only human
                                     And we all live in various strife.

Last Breath Leaves

“What is the meaning of life?”
A teacher asked of me
In one of my vivid dreams.
 
I cannot recall how I answered
Though every other wacky scene
Of that dream is in my memory.
 
My answer had gone up in smoke
But it made me wonder
If the meaning of life, its purpose
 
Is hidden in our subconscious.
An answer secret even to us
But it tells us what is right
 
The meaning of life is ambiguous
different and the same
For every living soul.
 
Our everyday journey
Through chaos and sanity
Is the road to that elusive answer.
 
I believe it can only be known
When one knocks on Death’s door
And sees the purpose of their life
 
Just as their last breath leaves.

Magic

Magic swirls in dusky skies

playing fun

playing hell

On other people’s lives

And yet not many believe in it.

The power of magic

To take your pain away

Or deliver another dose of it.

It brings roses, daffodils, tulips

to Life

And at the end of the day

Snuffs out their light.

It empowers people to fight for their dreams

And also knocks those on pedestals to their knees.

Oh wonderful magic, it plays its tricks

But you best believe in it.

It may help or hinder

But it’s definitely there.

Grab hold to its tail

And dear wanderer,

Beware.