Nightmares

I hate sleeping now, because I never know what Im going to wake up to. When I sleep, waking up could be a dream, or it could be a nightmare.

My dreams consist of the one I love being nearby. The problems that plague us in the waking world are nonexistant in this dream realm, and our time together is endless......until I wake and find that he is not there, until my eyes open to discover that what I thought was his warm body curled up next to me is a mound of blankets balled up beside me. Waking up then is a nightmare, because I know of the problems we both face in life in my waking hours, and that the sweet solace we had found from the troubles exists only in my mind.

My nightmares are filled with the gaunt, pale faces of loved ones, torn and twisted in pain and despair. Their figmentive bodies write in pain, and the blood that warmed their flesh runs, unending, in rivers across the floors. Demons in the shadows and the light stretch out their hands, beckoning me forward with their sweet decietful promises, till I lose my grip on my fear and follow mindlessly into their dark arms. In my nightmares, your worst fears are a reality, and anything that could present a glimmer of hope is gone, dead, destroyed. Many a night have my eyes fallen over the corpse of the one I hold dearest, and my hand touched his cold hard flesh. I have lost count as to the many times I have seen his lifeless black eyes staring up at me, his lacerated flesh, his eyes leaking bloody tears and his mouth opened in a silenced scream. When I break the surface into the waking world, my relief is like a weight being lifted from my chest. I cannot begin to how glad I am that within a few hours of waking I can walk up to him and wrap my arms around him, assuring that he is alive and well. The signs of life I see in his eyes then make it near impossible to keep from crying tears of relief.

I take care each morning to make some contact, or speak a word to those I care for, especially if they have been in my dreams. Each morning I have to ensure that they are living, breathing, and not spilled out across the floor as I have seen, or that they have not dissapeared as soon as I have opened my eyes.

Sleep is both a blessing and a curse to me, for my mind is a friend as well as an enemy. I never know what my subconcious will bring me when I lay myself down at night, and when I wake, I wish I did not know, because waking in itself can be as much of a nightmare, or a glorious dream.

I ask, would you prefer to dream of the horrors, and wake to find things well and good as I do, or would you rather live in the falsehood of dreams and open your eyes to watch it all dissapear?