Night, Mare is different than
Nightmare.
Echoes of those nightmares
erase the pleasure of the day.
Images of bloody snow-
A bone rope for a skull bucket
that I pull up from a well-
shakes me.
There is no explanation for
the exhaustion I feel
after those images haunt me
even while my eyes are wide open.
I cannot escape what my brain creates;
Fear and worry leech
my hopes away.
I wish I could say I dream
but I do not dream.
I traverse nightmares
while I sleep.
Disturbing thoughts and empty
wishes build the worlds I walk in.
Sleep; the enemy.
First Draft. Haven't written much lately
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