[This is less like a poem, and more like a monologue of some sort. I'm sorry about that! I'm not the best at poetry.]
I'm plagued by bad dreams;
Nightmares.
Every day, most days
Or,
Just sometimes.
My worst fears come alive, due to anxiety and stress.
I cannot escape from my box of insecurities,
Even when I am not awake.
I lose my family.
I lose my friends.
They walk out my life,
Leaving me empty handed and broken.
I watch them die and all I can do is beg.
Beg for my dream to end.
Sometimes it does,
Others,
It doesn't.
My body is dormant;
Yet
my mind is erupting with thoughts.
Terrifying, horrifying thoughts.
My dreams are like a broken record,
They feel so eery and get ever so tiresome.
They bother me,
Yes,
But some days,
I feel like I'm diseased by them and that they are infectious.
I rarely have good dreams.
They consist of fantasies that'll never happen
Whether it's:
Him and I,
Her and I,
Them and I,
We,
Us,
All together, happy.
I am a dreamer; It's undoubtable.
I end up having a lot of repetitive dreams.
Most of them are petrifying.
I could have the same dream of watching my friends all leave and I'd still wake up in pure terror, afraid all who I love has left.
I could have the same dream of my family being murdered in front of my eyes and I'd still wake up breathless and horrified, frightened by the fact that I'm dependent on them.
I could have the same dream of holding someone's hand in London and I'd still wake up content as if I just dreamt about it for the first night.
They are breaking that cycle.
This terrifying cycle.
But I'm scared that they'll all come back;
These bad dreams.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
Poetry(n). A blend of homesickness, nostalgia and deep longing for something, especially one's home in Wales; an ode to the loss of our homeland, our language and our traditions. •I update this quite infrequently :(•
