Wasteland of Dreams

There at the back of my mind like an elusive form… Out of focus a blur in my inner reality never dreamt in nightmares waiting to be born. It evades my light from my thoughts, from my inner sight… It scratches at the edge of my spine, a coming doom, a world-ending revelation, that haunts my waking life. Dreams like nightmares still born in the afterbirth of my fears. Unknown or unfelt but linger on, Haunting my consecrated grounds… like images in a flash of light, high on psychoactive compounds. But all in memory or in my deepest illusions… Dwell, these shells of ghosts in my history, in my vision, in my being, my foundation of soul. There it sites staring back at me, daring me its eyes, like lost visions… Can’t focus or remember anything. Only twin points of crimson fire reeking smoke from sanity… drifts through my mind… mingles with my waking realities. Each a different page in a book I try to read. It lingers like a stifling aroma! Of some unknown embryonic blooms I scratch the thing at the back of my mind, its shimmers a black Aura… and I scream inwardly to stifle the fears, That linger like wraiths from dying nightmares. It haunts my waking world it colors my thoughts my feelings. I can’t place a finger upon this pulse, the unknown something That may come or something has begun and can not be understood or undone… As doom hangs in the corner of my inner mind like suits eaten by moths of memories skins of dead beings, things or people linger like shadows upon my soul. Wreckage from a lost world. No matter how hard l try I can’t deviate I can only lie awake at night and read to drift back in to the wastelands of dreams…