Afraid To Dream Poem by Vision Ghost

Caught here in the isolation chamber located between
The borderland of awake and desired unconsciousness
As though the bilateral entwined exploration of thought
Has abandoned me to a journey to a sleep of the hopeless

Yet I yield to the knowledge to why I am this way today
Too disturbed that a clear mind imagines me in such a pictorial
A set of situations render to the forever awake in paranoia
Of the cinema in my head in constant unfathomed ontology

They say count the sheep, yet when they came scurrying
Each with six legs and my friend’s heads attached upside down
Their smiles sinister as though such a grotesque deformation
Is oddly ok as they are seemingly obliged to be this way

The tarantula put down my back that raped me with toxins
My own mother that bounded to me on all fours and licked my palm
To whom snarled my name as I fell from a bedroom window
Or the infestation of maggots in my eyes before tears of insects and blood

And when I was a child my father tried to smuggle me away
From a hospital of deformed witches, all wanting their curse on me
The “no faces” of tangled nightmares made sure we never got far
As they stole my breathing while drooling luminous saliva into my mouth

Or the shocking retrieval of dreams in retrospect morning memory
In realisation I was in character of something I could never be
A murderer, a rapist or something of social abomination
Was I possessed by a dark spirit last night or am I really crazy?

It’s simply impossible in a wakened world to witness these moments
So what is that? That rages in my brain in limitless communication
To a mind that longs for the skies to which I used to fly so free
Or the fields of everlasting long grass that stretched for miles

Am I some sort of sleeping innocent combatant in a struggle?
Between the embargo of light and dark unsure of who to fight for
Am I an angels warrior in truest virtue or hells little plaything?
Why do these dark playwrights unfold upon my dreams?

Perhaps I am the lock and key to the darkest corners of my mind
An unexplored condemnation of beasts behind doors I’m afraid to open
A corridor which is misted in the uncertainty of the truth
If this be the case, in the hidden museum of my imagination
Who or what is my dreams curator?