Catonic sleeper cell.
Eye slits sleep now, sink in, die now.
Paralysis flows in iron limbs,
a morphine drip
in your mind. Sleep sounds.
Mind chambers, quiver and quake,
shake your noose, not awake.
Three steps forward, fall to the sky,
cross your eyes, say goodbye.
Empty hands to scratch your throat,
twisted in vines, tanlged to choke.
Seeing black, seeing red,
seeing white. White is dead.
Dead. Dead. No man's wake.
Slipping through karma's stake.
Pierced and punctured, through the skin,
bleeding, bruising, frail and thin.
Carved by razors, sewn and shut.
Laced and molded, cement in cuts.
Frozen wounds will never heal,
broken time won't ever steal.
Time. Time. Bodies go
down the dreamhole, afterglow.
There's no sun, empty moon,
stars will burn for the afternoon.
Empty space, fingers plead,
for the mind it craves to feed.
Dead. Dead. Wake the dead.
From the factory lines they lie.
Conjure all the ways to die.
Product of the factory,
breed dreams, breed fear.
Fear, fear that there is no wake,
from the Dream Factory.
No escape.
Author notes
Lately, I've been have recurring dreams where in each dream, I undergo a different near-death experience. One where I am hanged, another when I wake from on operating table, another when my eyes are sewn shut. I felt that all of these dreams just kept coming down a factory line to keeping popping in my head at night, hence, a Dream Factory.
A contest entry
- REM cycling by grassisgreener.
600 points, ended August 21, 2008, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
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the beat has a cool rhythm, thumping like drums and as disturbing as the dreams you describe. on the other hand, the imagery to me seems a bit hackneyed. however, the poem is well written in form and i enjoyed (and was frightened by) it. thank you for entering!
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