Lying in bed with monsters

 

Nobed

Photo source here

 

 

I sit and wait, but I always seem to hesitate
I wanna grow, but I’m too scared to let it go…

Every night, I lie in bed awake but not awakened to the world around me.

I yearn for the Sandman’s visit to sprinkle dreams where I am a Metallic She rising to her creator Sundreams where I fight monsters from stories I read to myself.

But the Sandman never comes.

Instead, it is monsters from other stories that come to visit me.

Monsters that peel through my papered walls,
breaching through their camouflaged cornices,
zig-zagging through the white dunes of my sheets,
until one by one these monsters reach my feet,
hissing and glistening, these monsters stand poised,
ready to devour me.  

I kick and scream as their
wailing bodies boil kettle hot,
and drop pin with surgical precision
onto me.

These monsters, they wade through
the dripping salty wetness of my sweat,
hungry fangs mortar shell my skin, 
dredging and drilling,
grinding and gnawing, 

bone upon bone

from sacrum to rib

bones that once stood
defiantly against gravity, these monsters they brittle and break as if mere ricepaper.

The bits that survive lie lost in the quicksands of my monster creations. The more they fight, the deeper they sink. But the more they sit still, the harder it is for them to remember what sturdy ground once felt like.

It is in this stillness that I crave for the night’s oblivion to numb the Antarctic fire these monsters set ablaze, to hide the holes that make saving myself seem so forbidden, almost sinful.

Every night, I lie ready to give into my monsters’ darkness.

Every night, but tonight.

For tonight, I lie in bed, awakened to the power of the stories I tell myself, those very stories that only ever seem to feed and grow these monsters, monsters that roam deep inside of me. 

Tonight,  I am ready to outgrow and let go of these stories, and allow new stories to take their place. Stories that rescue me from me. Stories that warm my wintery hearth, gently gathering me into their weaving, finding the whole in my holes, and holding me in their folds until they have healed all the broken bits of me.

Tonight, I lie in bed, awake and awakened to the world around me.

Tonight, I am the Sandman’s dream.

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