sLEEping dreAMs

A slight pain flashed somewhere in my cerebrum. Touches my forehead with a kind of lightening taste, Heavy vibration in heart beats, non-stop silence fears me. Landholder waves his hands, his black leather hand gloves in my head. The picture dissolved into other picture, that is what my mind really don’t want to accept, but a distilled agreement. Water from the nose, bleeding pain, my hankey drained by the blood. When a man inside me sitting on a platform, thinking about the lacuna made me to ran towards the traffic police. He handled me a gun to shoot the deer running between the vehicles. The city submerged inside the horn sounds and water still popping out from the nose with reddish black blood. A child smiled at me and showed a newspaper with my au naturel picture. Slight pain in my head, Sally massages my forehead, asked me to sign on the papers. Her pink dress were embroidered with cat paws. Dreams were sleeping on the sideways to hunt the legless rats. Disgusting words and deeds with weeds to finish the dues of absurd imagination. The chloroform colors scratching the brain cells to create one more purple sea underneath the bed, sharks killed three people inside me who tried to breastfeed the poison. The underwater world shows the blue beings where there is no sharp teeth, no roads, no signals. The lights were vanished for a cause to prepare another blue world. A dark fiddler kissed on my lips without lust, asked me to follow him to jump from the hill. Those birds claws are sharper than my words to pull me high, high, high, fly, fly, fly. My dear woman, check your purse for bills and pills to pay. Are we acting like a Trotskyist or are we into bourgeois democracy?. Devilish dreams have bounded into innocent lives to create another dead leaders society. Can we have alter-ego with anyone in this bloody sea. Our art is made up of equilibrium, Our art is made up of morons, We are going to born again very soon, that means, we are going to die soon. rotten arrow narrows jumps up. Napoleonic Complex died to wake up again to think about the face of  Benicio Del Toro and the voice of Morgan Freeman. Life is beauti-quarter with reversal heart beats. In your small beautiful home, that vase is beautiful than those flowers. I smiled at it.

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2 Responses to sLEEping dreAMs

  1. curl says:

    we are anticlimaxes to our mental orgasms. like a spinstered sally we become products of our emotional apparatuses that are continually fed and thwarted according to what we must see.

  2. archana says:


    late reply but good job. 🙂

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