Talking In My Sleep

Dark dreams coil around my psyche
Choking it until it’s flat, lifeless, gaunt.
Images released by time and the Fates
Haunt my subconscious
Slice my desire
Taunt my rage

Words spill forth from the decanter at my core
Telling all, yet revealing nothing but these misty ruins

And they say…

A touch is never simply a touch—
It’s a beginning, a subtle trade,
Heralding what trails after the dusky dawn.

Pinpricks of delight are the beginnings of stab wounds
Lethal, obtrusive, volatile
Wily and clever are they—
Charming perpetrators of enchanting tragedy,
Which burns out in the midday sun.

Instinct and premonition collide and ignite
Into an elastic reality that bends and twists
With each bittersweet truth and shaded lie.
Nonetheless, it’s all too clear; denial doesn’t make it disappear
Its clarity provides an all-knowing blindness—
Run away, if you will; it’ll be here when you return.

These are the signs that demand acknowledgment
Even when disguised in the purple velvet of night.

And in my sleep I am the voices,
Calling out, pulling myself from these shadowy dreams.
But in darkness there is comfort, there is space to reconstruct
Images that were never there in the first place.
So, I slumber on
While this confusion and chaos permeate my pillows and sheets,
Warp my actions and obscure my vision.

These murky warnings cascade down my bedpost like a violent watershed,
Stampede across my floor and escape from their flimsy existence.
Untouched, unheeded, unnoticed
They glide under my door as flickering vapors
Deaf and mute
Under the mumblings of my voice
Ignoring the messages I send myself
While talking in my sleep.


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Mommy, Writer, Teacher, BRCA2+ Previvor, Sports Fan, Logophile, Bibliophile, Hedonist, Perpetual Bon Vivant mixed with the Occasional Curmudgeon. you can find me on Twitter @CharIsAWriter and here at

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