When I close my eyes,
I see it all.
I see my deepest desires,
drawn from my core,
phantasmal a line
and ferried by blood,
borne and etched to abyssal ink.
I see the memories I’ve sought,
the stories I’ve to live—
They sleep in sweet camaraderie,
beckoning to me.
I see the tenderness of dark
be swept away in blinks,
I see the amid the blackened puddle
a reflection watching me.
My listless gaze cedes to its shell,
and imprints those dreams
onto forlorn retinas.
The outlines of desire like
a blot of searing sun
pasted to my peripheral,
and a dreaming machine
running low on ink.
