Kicking out between dreams and sour reality

The most terrifying moment is not when you go to sleep, it’s when you wake up.

There is a wave that horrifies my senses as it hits me repeatedly.

I feel alone and alive, as if the lights have suddenly been turned on.

THIS. The detached artistic pursuit, of holding life apart from thought,

MEANS something so much more.

It. I? It transcends?

Then I confront it, that I must SEE… Others feel love, but I feel it at a distance; more pointedly? I cannot be as they are – casually in love with another and moving about in that love.

Horror and lies.

THEN then then then.

I shudder as light shatters and I hear female, matronly voices push in on my enfeebled being, saying, swearing demandingly but soothingly,

“It’s OK. Jarred, Jarred, Jarred. Shhh shhhh shhh”

The waves are back and forth repeatedly; a hard force on my shoulders and my arms and legs cry out!

Is that love?

It was a dream. An arrogant dream. A wet dream where my ego went down on me.

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