My dreams have been of violence.
But on a massive landscape.
Followed by paths of destruction and horror.
What’s odd is the soft smell of smoke in the air and of the taste of copper in my mouth.
But my dreams do not cause these manifestations, to trick my body, into thinking that they are real.
Because it is when I wake up, the smoke still remains.
And the taste of copper stays the same.
As people surround me, who aren’t even there.
An angel looks down upon me.
As something waits beneath the surface.
As my bed feels like coal.
As the screams turn to whispers.
As I walk alone in my dream.
No familiar faces or bodies.
I feel detached from my own.
But each time I awake
I fall asleep into a different chapter of this dark fairytale.
That I do not wish to be a part of.
I only act upon my goals because my dreams are of nightmares.
A lesson from my subconscious.
And hopefully not a vision.
This is why I don’t chase my dreans.
Because I don’t want that familiarity,
Like when I close my eyes, to rest my spirits.
I usually don’t remember my dreams.
But then why do I remember each of them this morning?