I'm a lucid dreamer, so the world of my dreams is a very attractive place for me to be. Dreaming is my drug. When depressed, the desire is to overdose.

This would be my angsty-teen poem except that I wrote it when I was 28 and still feel this way on a regular basis.



oh, if only morning
would not come for me
but leave me ever sleeping
dreaming what should be

all around me darkness
inside only light
bound not by reality
my heart and soul take flight

i soar to pleasant, far off worlds
and find there love for me
not emptiness and loneliness
like in reality

but morning comes
and makes me wake
to see another day
and loads me down with loneliness
for dreams, i'm made to pay

when day is done
and night has come
and i can sleep again
i hope that morning never comes
that eternal dreams begin

but always is
as always does
morning comes for me
and makes me wish
to sleep the sleep
where dreams can never be

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