Sleepwriting

It’s astonishing, how our minds tantalize us when we’re half asleep. The sights you see. The sounds you hear. They feel so genuine yet incessantly bizarre. Your pupils dilate as you fall into languidness, constantly transfixed by your surreal surroundings.

I feel nervous for no reason. Like I have said, I have given so many hints. I have elaborated, explained, enlightened, through unspoken words, about the thing I think about during my sleep. You didn’t pay attention.

I would be willing to stay awake much longer than I usually do. I would be willing to stare all day. I would be willing to follow. If there are chances, I would.

I feel obliged to behave as such. Or maybe I was asking too much. I am pushed by the affliction which it has become. Aha! We all know it knows no boundaries. They formed simultaneous distractions – and contradictions. Those paces are slow but indefinite (all puns intended).

Oh well what can I say? I’m in no position to be demanding. It was an inevitable mistake from the very first. It’s not easy living a contradiction. Apart from this and my vanity I barely speak of more. Isn’t it ironic?

I stared at my ceiling for hours, muttering. I considered each and every possible step but none of it is sane. I wish I believe in magick.

Don’t think I have never thought of revelation. At times I wish those strangers could read beyond my words. But then again we all have come to know that when every word unfolds, I will be disarmed. Now I wouldn’t want to be disarmed, would I? I might as well draw a line across my face. I want to keep the questions coming. No, I need to.

I have to go back to sleep so I can contemplate some more. Strangers, stay strange. And sober.

“There is a dream inside a dream, I’m wide awake the more I sleep.” – Marilyn Manson, The Reflecting God