Sleep, I wish to stay enclosed-
my body will rise, like that of the Son
& fall, winters never to keep.
Dreams are always better than reality, they say.
I know that it is nothing short of imaginary-twisting dreams into films depicting a past you still see with open eyes.
I’ve heard people tell me, chase your dreams.
I often wonder if they mean these-
pain & I could rent a room, as I feel the
acupuncture of bees.
Silently, sobs would rupture-
please, please go away!
& they would flee.
Reminisce on stings followed by scars, absent of the sweetest nectar we so diligently crave.
An unchangeable metamorphosis,
remains in cocooned ignorance
where fluttering eyelashes seek disdain.