In an eternal dream

My mind is clouded. It feels like I'm drifting lightly in the mist. From time to time I can see my arms and skinny they are, long and thin. I let the wind take me, and though I cannot see them I can hear others drift beside me. They whisper the same words my lips have been repeating over and over for years:
"I don't want to wake up".
But then I always do. I begin to feel myself, motionless on folds of dead cloth. This body is too lazy to open its eyes. But reality floods me, the world rushes up to me, the sorrows and pains and the heat and humidity. And with this comes the realization of my faults and wrongs. I'm too weak to get out of bed and meet this world. Too scared of its judgment. I'm drifting back into myself, trying to remember where I was a minute ago... was I flying?
I always fly alone. There are others, but they are no more than ghosts.
Have you ever re-dreamed something so many times it becomes so linked to you, that it is you? More you than anything you are awake. I am this dream, and I don't want to wake up.