sleeptalker

From what well of unconsciousness do these words come?
How deep, how strange?
Muttered beneath thin sheets of sleep.

They come from a place where there are no lies.
Even so, the  truth is tricky.
You never can tell.

It's good to know you're there to keep me from believing.
I wish you weren't listening, but hold me down, hold me down.
I say such silly, silly things.

Rhyming words of confession
I've offered accidentally
With no intention of repenting.

My own words, drunk on slumber,
Become an unyeilding relentless God
Who keeps me more honest than I need to be.

Who am I when I claim these memories that aren't my own?
When I recall experiences that don't belong to me?
Why don't I remember any of it? Any of it?

From what thick air do these visions unfold?
Dark clouds, thick rain
To wash clean and baptize dreams,

Revelations ripe for misunderstanding.
Even so, the truth is tricky.
Of that you can be sure.

You really should know how special you are
That I would trust you with these
Words, confession, dreams

Blank verse

A stream of nonsense, funny as hell.
From the belly of the beast you'll hear me laughing
At the God of inhibition, the God of oppression.

For who am I to bear this curse?
Why shouldn't I plunder memories and experience
When I won't remember a thing in the morning?