Nebulous World

I'd rather endure a thousand heartbreaks,
than sit here, unfeeling as I am.
Is there any point in waking up,
just to pinch the flesh of my arm,
checking that I am still alive? Rather stay in that
dream world of black and white. A single
red rose lying on the sidewalk. It seems
to belong there, I don't wonder why. Its
surreal beauty is so cliché that I can't
help but pluck each petal slowly from
its stem. Chanting that childhood verse.
He always loves me not. This game is
rigged, but in this nebulous world my
heart sinks at the thought of lost
love. I am Hamlet's Ophelia. And then
I wake. Emotion is drained along with
colour from my face. I am a corpse. I am
a puppet. Whoever's got the strings
mustn't be very entertained. MY
expression is painted on, and my heart
doesn't beat. A charming disposition only
goes so far when it's rehearsed. And
then I wake. Or do I sleep? I swing in a
hammock, Peace fills the air and
I never want to leave. Branches
creak and I pass through the grass,
like quicksand. I'm free-falling in
slow motion and I scan the air around
me. People of all ages are laughing
as they tumble and flip. They are going
in all directions. Gravity abandoned me.
I fall up into my bed, pondering
gravity, cursing its consistency
as its mocks my own logic. And
suddenly I am sad. Wetness trickles
from my sockets and I think I've
lost my eyes. I recognize the tears
about the same time that they
begin to rush with urgency down
to my chin and drip. Drip. Drip.
I cry because I am crying and
I laugh at my own absurdity.
At the sound of my laughter my
weeping increases. A muddled mess
of emotion has landed at my
doorstep, but it is emotion nonetheless;
and I weep, laugh and cry out
at these long lost expression. I
have not left this nest in days.
I step down to the floor and meet
no resistance. I wake up. Not
knowing what to think, but a
notion lurking in my brain that
I should feel something. Maybe
next time it won't be a dream.