Dream Theory

Some days I swear they calculated the minutes wrong. How can a body lie still in the night while greeting the illusions of our subconscious droughts in the scenery other people have witnessed? What doesn't make sense to my open eyes finds ways to table truth in semi-comas come every night and now that I'm up again, I'm wondering what she meant when she braided flowers into my hair.

I only know what I know because someone cared enough to tell me, but who tells the truth when it's the only force to be reckoned with blind?

I find my tongue don't roll like it used to. It sticks dry to it's roof, begging proof of past promises kept and if unmet, I get a talking to. My brain finds ways to scold itself lukewarm, not enough to cause harm to the vital parts but heat sure travels to the heart of the stuff--

I'm still not sure where my thoughts exit from but they sound a lot like my id when she's on one. Give her time and she'll float down to stable ground once the colors fade softer but til then ears tilt toward the sound of tones assured one way or another.

2017