The Lucid Dreamer

She sleeps from the futility of life
And wakes up to the music of violence
Crocodiles and soldiers and robots and deities and incubi
And non-cute monsters in her head
A roach squished, a man devoured
An infant disfigured, a machine breaks down
A fruit cut open, a napalmed crowd
A Virgin Mary violated, a Christ crowned
So she mumbles in her slumber
What she can’t in consciousness
And turns her face into her pillows
In a classic favorite fetal pose
Fighting with the courage of hitting the hay
Better a recluse in surrealist decay
Fearful to wake up again
This time on planet earth
To the trembling of her senses and a lust for the knife
When she finds out she’s still alive
There’s nowhere called home, no luxury worth its price
Where is afterlife

(c) 2013
Vivien Marie Lopez
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Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

7 thoughts on “The Lucid Dreamer

Go. Moan. Scream. Tell me if you like it. Make some noise.

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