Dream Less Nights

Sealed in white cotton Bathed in SSRIs My nights have forgotten dream. Notebooks stand at the ready each morning, Uselessly covered in dust. Once I filled them remorselessly With remains of the strange woman, The snake-haired temptress, The ashen guardians walking in shadows. Now, I know only that memories Fail me each dawn. Each day, each night I wait, anticipating irruption. Each morning I wake to just routine, just chores, just the next piece of reason. Will the night play dead until I die? Will the guests of my buried soul Escape their early grave? Am I condemned to an artless list? No. No. And no again. This blank page Demands writing. A rite of sacrifice must begin - So from this death Dream spring again.