Ink is dripping


Never before have I felt so absolutely asleep. So unconscious while being so alive. Taking flight but staying completely stationary in the embrace of my bed, in the arms of my blanket. It was an extraordinary experience to see so much and to feel so much in the empty silence around me, but not within me. To be blinded by so many different colours at the same time with my eyes closed.
 It was like being inside a music box. Or having a music box inside my mind. 
  A glorious, glorious nightmare. Where thunderstorms sang their trembling symphonies and I danced barefoot in the rain with the monsters of my childhood.
 Where I walked over the bleeding corpses of loved ones and collected their eyes in little boxes. So many different colours filled with so many different memories.
 Where I fell to my knees and and started digging, and laughing as the weeds sank their claws into my skin and curled around my ankles. Pulling me into the very earth that I was digging, finding a place to hide my secrets. But then I was drowning on land. The earth cracked and I was thrown into the darkness of the unknown, into the darkness of the subconscious mind.
 And I was hidden away with my own secrets. Asleep within my sleep.

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