I Am My Own Worst Nightmare
Dilemma No. 1: Love For Everything Eleven
Poetry, like the number eleven, just keeps creeping in on the clock, and it's everywhere. Everything appears as eleven in my mind. My love for the number means unusual sleep patterns. NyQuil is just not strong enough to knock me out after eleven hours of staying alert during the day. I go to sleep very early at night. Sometimes it takes more and more NyQuil, and sometimes I sleep for a long time, but I refuse to stay awake for more than eleven hours a day. I have really strange dreams because of this. Everything is fucked.
Dilemma No. 2: A Poem About A Dragon Fly
Before night, I take the potion as a flying insect
And stop and think of the world to dissect.
A tear trickles down my face while I cry
Falling deeper into a dreamland of sleep,
Growing bigger, I’m inhuman to weep
As the mortal world begins to die.
At night I am a dragon that breathes smoke,
At daybreak, I’ll sleepwalk with human folk.
Mr. Charles Darwin died in the orphanage,
Over institutions of my fen-raged dreams,
Off coastlands of weedy-soaked serpents
The sea flows from sorrow of storage.
An attic within a cave conceals me for a while.
Then I arise, alone of scales, spikes of style,
I rage with madness at my seventh horn.
As my three eyes weep at unseeing dark,
Nightfall of stone-blind infectious sharks,
Swimming with ailing evil, I’m reborn.
I snarl and gnarl at a trapdoor of rocky bars
As a fire-breathing monster bleeding scars,
Craving for a sea nymph to set me free;
Sharing darkness with an immortal breeze
I breathe flames with venomous steam,
I kill a Raven and eat him in the sea.
These cages kill the memory of a stranger,
Of sunshine and days loving Amy Granger;
When daylight struck my brow for sight,
Though here I dwell as a disfigured reptile
Hurting with hunger to walk as a human,
But I’m lizard-like, slithering with fright.
There beaming in the horizon gleams her,
Beckoning for me to drown in slumber,
To nap with wet dreams of a heavenly sky,
To forsake burning desire of unholy fire
And to end nibbles of dog-hearted fancy;
In place of evolving, as a creature I’ll fly.
I’ll fly higher and higher ‘til I reach heaven
And awake at eleven minutes past eleven.