Repertoire Of Nightmares

I started writing this months back which means i don't necessarily feel this way currently, however i pretty much got reminded of it this morning and hence searched my papers and i've decided t retype, just for th sake.


Recollecting foggy bites in hopes that my behaviour would be deemed acceptable. Im not afraid of going back and retrieving my unconscious mind. Im afraid of moving forward and fighting it.

I choke on a piece of bread, dissolve it with clear liquid in its purest form only t feel a sharp pain relieve my numb throat. Im not hungry but i'll do anything t buy time away from sleeping. I turn th knob on th surface of my barrier t a room that is now not only dark but empty.

Dust mutes that spring in th thin shafts of light. Sunlight. Perhaps that could end a sleepless night. Smell of burnt paper mixed w th taste of mint.

I call for help, any kind. Nobody hears. I can't get through t any being until i finally awake. I ride in a car, down a road so unfamiliar, almost th sensation my sanctuary brings; th place that holds my nightmares  w no merciful ventilation. A smell laces th air, evolving t stench that flattens out. Im crouching t give way t a force developing on th right of my side, devouring all th spaces i once occupied in th back seat of a car riding on th highway t hell. It diffuses into every stoma on my cold, clammy skin, seeping out my strength in exchange. I wake up t reality. I don't realise it until i am one step out of my room, facing empty walls, gagging on my only defence; a scream. I find it hard t decipher my reality. It was all but a dream.

I would find comfort in sunrise, in th sunlight for me t peacefully buy an eyeful of sleep. Only if i didn't wake up screaming at 11 that morning.

Live everyday like its your last. As i write this even. I want it t be perfect, t be flawless. But i can't. I feel so weak, emotionally and physically. And it scares me t know that im so very susceptible t th claws that break through th brumous blue sky, reaching out t tear me apart, reaching down t carry me away from people as i stab myself w a dagger ignited by my very thoughts.

I still believe. In love. In th cross i wear on my wrist. I believe it saves me.

But im paralyzed in all odds against it. Im lying on my bed, in my room, face up w darkness faintly disrupted by a ray of artificial lighting. Im conscious, greeted by an aerial view, my brain predicts what will come about, much quicker than it can activate neurones t signal voluntary movements. I lay there, helpless, motionless as a figure draped in white, almost luminous cloth against dusk stands where my feet dangles. I could only hope t wake up and erase what may be a hallucination. Real or not real?

Hair that covers a non-existent face. As black as vines that come t life from a lethal insect, creeping around branches, suffocating. Stuck in non-existent motion, i could only watch as it pulls my blanket of my frail, dead-like body. I awake t reality. Another episode that keeps me clawing my eyes open until i think its safe t sleep.

My legs feel gelatinous as i release my soul into th ambience of a noneffervescent but animated Sabbath.

Deja Vu - As French psychic researcher coined as th feeling of certainty that one has already witnessed a current situation of which further added by Sigmund Freud as 'the uncanny.'

I woke up not too long after, not because i managed t grab a wholesome of sleep no, instead i feared it would delve into a more than familiar mystifying abyss, And for once, i actually attained ultimate control. But like how words trench into stones, it wasn't abstruse t my sanity, or what's left of it. Forcefully mimicking a school kid dragging my exanimated being befriending weary eyes out of bed - i played that role oh so well, proceeded t toast a couple of garlic bread. Retrieved my soul on a still bright and sunny afternoon, etched w th very thoughts of my dreams in mind. Eldritch.


I see an acquaintance pleading w me t 'save it' as i scurry onto a platform. Then it hits me. I've been here before, im at a gunpoint, men on my right but i keep running. Im in a chase against something when i realise; Deja Vu. I've seen this in my dream last night, a bad dream. I wouldn't even call it a dream. My initial thought  on how i could alter th outcome of this dream made me ponder, only in reality of how when asked 'if you could turn back time, would you change your epilogue in th book of life?' No, i wouldn't, because i never believed in regret. However in my dream, i did. For th first time, i succumbed t regret.

Listening t a song that brings you back t everything you hated t be, a song that surfaces memories you don't ever wish t revisit. My definition of sleep - that is.