"I hate this." Says the figure, tossing and turning in their bed. Unsatisfied with any position they manage to twist their body into.
"The dreams are distasteful." They added, another rough toss of their figure to get into another position.
Staying still this time, they managed to let their body relax into the mattress.
"It's like as soon as reality becomes a little sweeter for me, my escape goes sour."
"Just as much when my reality goes wrong, my escape becomes my lifeline." The figure muttered quietly, their eyelids beginning to get heavy again.
"I miss the days when my dreams didn't reflect reality. I miss dreaming of nonsense. Instead of dreams of what ifs and memories." A small, drifting blink.
The figure yawned before their eyes shut. Black surrounding their mind, easing them further into their blankets and pillows.
"Can only wonder what will come tonight." They drifted off. Before escaping again. The black swallowing them with no hesitation. No second thought of what they may be dragged into for the next few waking hours of twilight.
It's for the better they don't see it coming.
YOU ARE READING
Sickening Poetry
PoetryJust a poem book, mostly small, short poems. Maybe a big poem here and there but This is just for fun. Nothing serious.
