These are the times when I just hate sleeping -- dreaming especially. It's much better when I'm like this, awake, getting hold of my thoughts. I know what images to see, what to feel, and what to do. I'm in a state of evading sleep just so I could stay in control with what's going on around me.
It's a helpless feeling. I thought about putting it to words because words remain as it is. I have no other wish but for this poem to serve its purpose:
3am. The time is cursed, I lie
halfway between my sleep and the mattress
dreams are plucked fresh like teardrops
burning mountains down my cheeks.
The kid and I in unbroken speeches
You were an angry stranger to me,
I fear of places, obscure faces
You sought to make me weep.
3am. The time is unholy, but it flows
slow; minutes are sad, but it goes.
Dreams are what I went for
Why chase me in my sleep?
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