I used to have dreams. On nights with whispering winds, banging thunder, cool breezes of spring air: I would dream
Now with rigid hands, shaking lips I can barely bat a lash. I can hardly close my eyes, allow darkness and sanity, beautiful colors and lips of joy to place marvelous kisses onto sleeping lids. Dreams are something I used to have, at least that is what I’ve convinced myself. They are illusions of things I want, or so I’ve told myself. My mind is no longer falling under the sandman’s spell, let alone allowing him to speak a word.
I used to have dreams that would cause a smile to form on my face, dimples showing with happiness no one could defeat. Yet with no dreams, they barely make way.
My words, they must be rantings, mumbles, unintelligible things…I would just like to dream again.
But dreams are only something I used to have.