Sleep is such an eerie idea. You aren’t alive nor are you dead. You may be alive but you could feel dead, or maybe live another life. What is sleep to one person rather than the next? No one consists of the same being within sleep. One is just limbo. The “idea” of limbo. There is no limbo, but there is. Is there an answer to this question? What is sleep?
I had a dream last night,
the kind that kills your appetite.
I dreamt all the friends I had, had died.
So don’t take long when it comes now.
Not everybody’s gone and your sympathy for me is running dry.
And you swore to christ you found god,
in the love we made before you lie dead on your lawn.
This is where I’m supposed to be with you.
So when you get back,
I’ll be home.
We can have our love.
It’s like feeding a dog his bone,
so he never leaves his home for the rest of his days.