Dream No. 3

dreams, Internal Poetry, Line Poetry, Poetry, Problems, This Doesn't Feel Right

In my dreams last night,

There was fleeting sex with an evil person whose feel I can’t remember,

On the second floor of a bunk-bed in front of a Netflix screen.

I don’t remember courting, nor the catch-up about what happened after doing each other wrong,

Merely doing each other.

There was snow on the ground,

As if this presence passed through my security

Because I never let go of them in the first place.

I do not feel disgust looking at this,

I stare only with blank eyes.

I need to consult this with the film over my corneas.

What are you doing there in the first place?

I look at my bed, empty in reality.

What were you doing there in the first place?