The tangles of my hair shrouding my dream
The charred knot in my raspy, unknown voice,
Smothering water letting off hot steam,
To ponder, think, and know there is no choice
Read MoreMy eyes flit open, darkness trickles in
The sky is cloudless, dun and without moon,
The wind gurgles, tiptoeing up my skin,
Inhibitions swept away by its tune
Lilies gripping slices of the sky
In their honeyed fingers.
The moon-eyed trees shedding their skin
once again.
He was lucid but the expression on his face was thick with blankness. Or maybe it could've been a deep, trifling concentration, a rare investment, If one was to capture it in a photograph of language, it would translate such: eyes slightly narrowed, brows furrowed, the line between them deep and important.
Read MoreWhat does a broken heart look like?
Is it an ugly, only-coloured gash in the vital organ?
Is it a feverish swelling of the skin enveloping it?
Read MoreDef: Sleepwalking is characterised by a series of complex events, walking being the most common among them.
I discovered I was a sleepwalker when I was six years old. I stumbled to the kitchen and started scrubbing the table frantically. I imagine I felt guilty for never cleaning up the strawberry milk I would perpetually spill during my waking hours
Stress is paralysing, contorted notion I cannot begin to understand. As my childhood and preadolescent years fade, this immense throbbing web of electricity quivers in my chest, always awake, humming it's far-from-pleasant tune.
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