nighttime struggles.

fear is the stuff that dreams are made from.

what purpose does sleep serve?
one third of our lives are wasted away in the lands of the unconscious silence.
sleep is supposedly peaceful, resting, rejuvenating.

then why is it

that when i awake and look upon my bed,
i see the bodyprints of a constant struggle.
the creases display a ship, thrown about by a frightening tempest.
the struggle of a vicious animal tied down, struggling with its bonds.
my bed truly speaks the tale of the battle of the night.

bad dreams alternate between the frightening and the depressing.

old friends.
death.
the past.
vulnerability.

sleep is an angry beast that does not deserve to inhabit my mind.

-Pamplemousse

sphere

the waves blanch the reeds

struggling in the sand.

the waters push and retreat as rabid horses,

pulled by the moon, cracking its rosy whip.

punishing the liquid, beating it until it foams from the pain.

gravity is the only restraint,
that keeps the sea from retaliating against the lunar monster.

-Pamplemousse