Coming To Grips

Sitting here thinking, another week gone. Another small increment moved from the fire. It feels like it does when you’re just waking up, half grasping consciousness, half in the mire. When you’re not quite sure if it’s real or a dream, the one where no matter your efforts you fail. In total frustration you claw just to move, and in the struggle, you miss the details that if you had noticed, the dream would be clear. You’d wake yourself up just to make it all end. Yet lost in it all the dream goes on and on, and so the anxiety builds until when it turns into nightmare, the torment of soul. You finally wake up in cold beads of sweat. That’s how it feels now that I’ve come to see the sum of so many things that I regret. I’m finally waking up, opening my eyes. Coming to grips with a life of delusion. Forced to admit that I’ve crafted this hell, here in my tower on the mount of seclusion. So I sit here thinking, another week gone. A glimpse of the fire, miles away so it seems. Wondering how I’m supposed to go on, when I can’t trust my heart... and I can’t trust my dreams.