Wet Dreams

Every two hours it comes again,
the grit in my eyes
from half shed tears.
Another dream:
regret,
remorse,
FAILURE
the running theme.
All my should haves,
could haves,
would haves
that I push away waking
tsunami-rush into my mind.
And I writhe,
whimper,
push away things intangible
and wake myself.
I claw the grit from my eyes,
but it never leaves my mind.
Again and again
homes,
relatives,
lovers,
husbands
gone: fled or dead,
passed from my reach
in so many ways
return to claw open my scars.
What a terrible thing it is
to love the dead.
And I wonder who and what I truly mourn;
their passing,
or my inability to hold anything,
anyone fast.
Are those tears grief or fear?
I grasp at shadows
as I drift away,
watching my life vanish
in the distance.
Ahead...
all is still.

Written By:
Pepper, Jauhara or Deb

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