That Fluid Dream

A Poem

Them dreams, are these intense cramps in my thighs holding me tight

Them dreams, are skin drying at the edge of my eyes refusing to shed

They, are the blood involuntarily surging through my ill-aligned feminal caves

Them dreams are a haunting swing that propel me only to be pulled back by the same aching stomach

Some dreams have become hallucinations They are only so real

Some dreams have become their own material, without me

Some dreams, that were set out to meet elaborate rivers have become dried streams infested by carnivorous plants

Them, dreams have permanently half closed my eyes

Seeing the world partly in acute saturation and partly in violets disrupted by crude visual illusions

Them, dreams bounce off my skin like launching grasshoppers

Them, dreams dart through my bones like homeless transmissions

Them, dreams are not all ribbons and rainbows Not all light-toned, shapes newly born

One of them, dreams is a — cactus like cyst — poking out of my neck filled with heavy pus — about to burst — but is rather mutating — internally —

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In response to the splendid prompt — Dreams — by Dead Poets Live Thank you for tagging me.