The Dream

Rushing, falling,
crying, shrieking.
Are you dead
or are you dreaming?

Eyes gaping open,
unconfined,
you wake up
to a long-lost mind

from ten too many
whiskeyed nights
and echoes of
a pounding fight

which beats within
your very bones
until you come back
all alone,

and here you are.
Silence is loud.
Are you awake
or are you proud?

You built yourself
this empty house--
can you live
or will you grouse

as if the framework
weren't your own?
Your demons fly
but you won't atone.

You wrap yourself
within a guise
of comfort
to your rotting eyes.

Control (still slipping)
is in your hand.
Your foundation is rock
(but really it's sand).

Your heart is just
a (broken) hassle,
and you're the king
of a sleeping castle.

The demons aren't nearly
as close as they seem
(but are you dead
or is this a dream?).