This I would wish, that there was no time or sleep. No more past, or future, and everything we did was good the first time, for the day. Without the need of looking back to learn from the past, and no future to hope for the better. No more tiredness, or having a need to dream, and no nightmares to fear. If there was a second time, this is how I would like to start over.

The sleeping pills in her pillowcase, the dark blank in her blanket, her purse lips purple; she disappears, she disappears. Her fears cuddle warm beside, to tears that went dry in the beat of her heart's drum. The strum, strum, stern in her veins, she breaks free finally floating to her lost rhythm of peace.

I kiss her ghost, and sleep with the dust on her photograph, next to my bedside.

Let the night take you. Let the stars evaporate into your dreams. Let sleep be the only comfort for you to believe.

Foolishness sleeps soundly, while knowledge turns with each thinking hour, longing for the dawn of answers.

The paint is drying, and time is dying. The pain is crying, lying on my back, trying to get back the time, to brushstrokes too fast, wet went dry and love went dull; now I live in a portrait I never painted.

If coffee were like dreams, then I would be wired in constant bliss, never needing sleep to live out my dreams.