I had a dream of you last night.
Funny, night. How it does that.
Only in darkness do I find my vices so forceful.
Creeping in on me, constantly, like flickers of light
On cold lamp lit streets in desolate hours.
Paralyzed, I lie still.
Movement might bring ripples, I don't risk it.
Still in my silence induced snow.
So austere, memories, in matters of treatment.
There is nothing more oppressive than recollection.
But decadence comes with time.
I'm not sure what to make of it all.
All of these things occupying space in my mind.
Certainly not what to say.
Words. How I fear words sometimes.
So I hold my tongue.
Grace is distant. And I look for the correlation.
But I can not connect things.
It's all a blur, like dreams so often are.
At least they're consistent. Or perhaps just discordant.
How strange dreams bring things,
Only in the depths of consciousness
And darkness and sleep.
The dream ends. My eyes open.
I get up. Life goes on.