when I close my eyes, there’s nothing
just a flat, black backdrop with a few scattered markings
the harder I close them, the darker it gets
if I don’t remind myself to relax
they just pop open again
like they can’t be bothered with the process
I do this a few times and eventually
I fall asleep
Often, it seems, in that same moment I awaken, dreamless
but there are spells when I’m slow to wake, shaken by time
watching myself trapped in worlds so real
you won’t convince me I wasn’t really there
the conjurings of unspoken, desired nirvanas
or the evocation of secret, bone-chilling nightmares
Always exhausting, seemingly prophetic
leaving behind questions of what really goes on
when I close my eyes

Photo provided by: unsplash-logoLouis Blythe

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