when ten is twelve.

as a kid.
I remember being told- that when you dream.
the colors are more vivid
and awe inspiring than anything
you could ever explain.
so when you wake- it all seems
pastel.

if this is the case.
then I wonder if the same is true for the
brokenhearted sleepers. dreaming
in red blood trails. if that pain
is something that the waking couldn't handle.
and if that's the reason
sometimes. when I rise.
my eyes are rain clouds, and I feel like
I have a stiletto
stuck through my chest.

and when you sleep.
does the past haunt more deeply
than any nostalgic moment can muster.
and do the flames of the past
seem like forest fires- leaving the edges
of your faith in fringes like an old
treasure map.
where the ex's don't need marks- and no matter
how fast you walk. you'll still end up lost
when you get there.


so I wonder.
are my dreams conspirators
to make the most mundane seem magnificent
and cement the fact that
broken hearts.
will never heal.