She approached me earlier today-
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normally she wakes me in the middle
of the night.
It seems that I have work to do;
she always has the right words,
the right angles-
her dreams are much
more vivid than mine and require
I don't know how she does it,
but I am to blame-
my delivery is off aim,
She uses a figurative sword to slice
up my insides-
tearing at me with little empires
Sometimes I wish that she would
just take the pen from me
and write it herself.
she creeps and crawls,
plotting and attacking my thoughts,
wearing me out,
waiting for the right time
to make her get away.
I have often suggested that she just leave.
I remind her of the times when
she used to love me-
She would wake me in the night
just to point out the blackness
of the night and then make love to me.
She used to dance with me,
claiming that moon beams made up our steps.
But no longer is she with me-
void of words to tell,
she meshes reality with her dreams
and I am unable to make sense of it.
"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead." — Charles Bukowski