Waking Dreams
I am
tired
of being sad.
Sometimes I think I can see the light through the dark black tunnel. The winding tunnel is where the walls are thick and black; it closes in on my smaller form, enveloping, engulfing till I suffocate and see the last thread of hope. A shy glimmer, and it grows and grows till the stars of light are bursting behind my eyelids, blinding, startling, warming.
Then the dream brings me out of the dark tunnel, and suddenly all around me is nothing but vast grassy plains, bright and open. As if its vastness is not terrifying enough, a slight mist rises from the cool ground, curling and dancing around my feet in drifting waves. The mist rises further, till the ice of the dew tingles my skin, a multitude of burning cold pricks - and I am lost.
I run. But with stumbling, flailing legs. I do not know what, or who, I am escaping from, only this inexhaustible urge to escape from the ominous phantom that is after me. My hair is in my face, my breath is coming out in heavy wrecking gasps and my heart is pulsing furiously in my hollow chest.
Just as I feel leaden exhaustion seeping up my numb bones, a strong arm reaches out of the fog and snags me by my waist. It is a relief, it is inviting and comforting; it is home. Instinctively, I lean towards it, unable to hold a smile back. My eyes flutter shut, but as they do, an eerie snicker echoes.
My eyes snap open. It is my lover. With the eyes of Death.
tired
of being sad.
Sometimes I think I can see the light through the dark black tunnel. The winding tunnel is where the walls are thick and black; it closes in on my smaller form, enveloping, engulfing till I suffocate and see the last thread of hope. A shy glimmer, and it grows and grows till the stars of light are bursting behind my eyelids, blinding, startling, warming.
Then the dream brings me out of the dark tunnel, and suddenly all around me is nothing but vast grassy plains, bright and open. As if its vastness is not terrifying enough, a slight mist rises from the cool ground, curling and dancing around my feet in drifting waves. The mist rises further, till the ice of the dew tingles my skin, a multitude of burning cold pricks - and I am lost.
I run. But with stumbling, flailing legs. I do not know what, or who, I am escaping from, only this inexhaustible urge to escape from the ominous phantom that is after me. My hair is in my face, my breath is coming out in heavy wrecking gasps and my heart is pulsing furiously in my hollow chest.
Just as I feel leaden exhaustion seeping up my numb bones, a strong arm reaches out of the fog and snags me by my waist. It is a relief, it is inviting and comforting; it is home. Instinctively, I lean towards it, unable to hold a smile back. My eyes flutter shut, but as they do, an eerie snicker echoes.
My eyes snap open. It is my lover. With the eyes of Death.