I am caught

I am caught

In a world of difference

Which is almost the same

As it should be

Until it’s not.

It must be a dream

But it takes time to realise

When it’s in technicolour

A lurid intensity.

Wrap me up in warm towels

Like they do at the barbershop

Massage my ego

Slap my face

With cold water.

It matters little

I’m still dreaming,

A bone-deep, lucid

One-act play

On repeat.

A whole selection

Of post-watershed drama

Turning me around.

When I think I’m awake

Everything is as it should be

Until the shadow in the corner

Creeps under my feet

Climbs into my skin

Scraping to the bones

And I scream

Only to wake up.

But am I awake

How do I know if I was ever asleep?

Sometimes I don’t recognise the music

Perhaps I wrote it.

I remember so many days

That are dreams to me now

Is the past real

Is everything a falsified account?

Tiredness lingers

It draws me in

Taking advantage of solitude

And inactivity

Reality, so easily absorbed

Into a projection

Of my inner world.

What a world that can be consumed

By the confluence

Of what might have been

And probably was

In some way

Always part of me.

The smell of an old car

The wax and grease

The worn, sweaty smell of leather

The way a heater would hum

Drying out the air

The heady smell of fuel

And smoke when

Everything finally warmed up.

I could sleep in the backseat

Sometimes behind the wheel.

Tiredness kills.

I barely sleep in a bed

The sofa is a bear trap

For the bones of me.

Too many women

Walk to their deaths

On dark streets

I am lost among them

Trying to be heard

It must be a dream

As I am ignored

By all but a few.

If it is real

Nothing would persuade me

To walk that path

I am entangled enough.

Caught up in a contrivance

Of doubt and guilt

I am drowning in a sea

Of hostility

Waking, in a cold sweat

On another day of nightmares

Wish lists and impossibilities

Never free of the fear

That I was ever truly asleep

Or

Ever fully awake.