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the simple life

"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words." Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

i sleep with myself

i thought i'll just blink.

i sleep with myself. my pillow is soft. a valley, a person, usually different, but always soft.

i sleep with myself. the dreams do come. out there. but they haven't come lately. like a missing period.

i sleep with myself. she tells me. why the anger? no why the lack of it.

do i care? i do but i think. and you don't?

i sleep with myself. do monsters come? i wish they do. i wish they come. unleash hell, fire balls, and kiss me deadly. like a vampire, i rise only to realize that the blood the blood the blood.

i sleep with myself because death delays. when she does, it is deader than life. i cry. she weeps. we live.

i sleep with myself. there is another who sleeps. where is she? no what is she? she lives? flesh and blood?

does she float? then i want to be light. light. fight. flight.

i sleep with myself. there is no other.

act 2 begins when i sleep the sleep of death, only to rise, again. but why am in act 1?

again, i sleep with myself. but there she lies.


(ok, i just needed to write. doesn't make sense to you? doesn't make sense to me either. i'm alright - just needed to write. Peace)

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