Finding sleep, the hearty keep; the twinkles in my head.
Lead and breed the wants I need in dreams unheard, unsaid.
A collage of reality, all strewn with cuts and paste; melded in finality to want another taste.
Dreams are reams of pages seen: a speckled spectrum splayed.
Into the deep subconscious stream, they’re laid and overlaid.
Amalgamations of relations blended in my brain; ever to reverberate, yet never stay the same.
Please tell me how things stick around.
Why they echo, and echo, and stay?
If knowing then I could amend.
I’d find another way.