I don’t understand how you can have a dream,
never yours to possess, a fleeting experience so it would seem,
waking up to find nothing but a thought of insignificance, unworthy you’re deemed
an existential sweat, the biproduct of pent-up stress,
something to which only you attest,
a private show of indecency and deviancy waiting for you upon rest,
so what do you do when your only escape is in the embrace of slumber?
do you lay there in bliss or do you stop and wonder?
to be warped out of a moment like a lucid plunger,
if you can’t find solace in delusion, then it’s no longer pleasant,
some sort of nightmare but the fear isn’t present,
it instead weighs on you and lingers, your light like a moon dwindling from full to crescent.