The Realm of Harmful Realism

During my sleep no sound is powerful enough to awaken me from the realm of harmful realism. Hours roll and not being aware of a temporary death, every past life's event I relive with bitterness and regret. I flint as an airplane piercing misty and thick clouds, not wanting to be trapped in any hypnotic state. People who harmed me suddenly come into view, some are dead and still haunt me with their laugh. I sweat as grass on a humid day, I terribly shake and fall out of the bed...realizing I've left the realm of harmful realism.