Barely Lucid

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling 8 years old – pouty, anxious, entitled, broken. Why in the strange space between dream and conscious are we at our most vulnerable? The demons seem to prowl at night – spindles and vapors colliding in atmospheres around our bodies. The strange softness of our pillows supporting such broken thoughts. If there were ever a time dreams were real and walking in the physical world – it would be here, when I feel the 4 a.m. starvation stirring and visions tunneling from my core.

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