TRUTHS

How can the dreams be so truthful?
Reality is more blissful , allowing you to turn a blind eye to it just as you please. Dreams are far beyond your realm of power, of reason.
How I wish they weren't so truthful!
How I want my peace of mind.

But life isn't perfect.

We have to fight the beasts in our dreams, then and only then we can wake up.
Then they come back to haunt you in daylight. Reminding you constantly, lurking just out of sight, so that you never forget they are there.

I don't want dreams. Or perhaps we can trade our dreams, you and me?
For what is true for you will be naught to me and my truths will seem ridiculous to you.
How unconventional. How convenient.

But maybe your dreams are as painful as mine, perhaps even more so for me. It is a long, tiring cycle of hurt that I wouldn't want any part in. Not even to satisfy my curiosity. Not even to test whether what dreams tell me is the truth or not.
The stakes are too high, I am too weak.

You seem weak too, but maybe you aren't.

Maybe each dawn is promising and dusk full of anticipation for you. 

Maybe you see the sun and there are other brighter colors for you in there. 

Maybe you don't fear as I fear. What a weird life that would be.
I sincerely hope you don't fear, yet I don't.

Positions are difficult. Decisions are difficult. Prayers are easy, only when you don't insist on lying to your Almighty

Oh but the shame! How can it be that you pray for your exoneration and not admit your imprisonment. The shame of conviction,and the consequences of admission.

Cowardice is one of my virtues. My mind is my vilest vice. But these dreams! They don't let me breath anymore. Its a noose altogether too tight. Tightening as  seconds  pass.

Maybe if I didn't sleep one night, maybe if I broke the chain of torture, it might end. 

Its not for the lack of trying on my part that the dreams are are stuck.
In a whirlpool of time.
So far beyond the possibility of fulfillment.
So deep down into abyss.

You sit down and think maybe this time, the fruits of your wait shall ripen. Yet you know they wont.

I sit down and wish I don't have to deal with it. Hope of exoneration or  permanent imprisonment both being the prize here, I fear I will find none. I will win none. I deserve none.

I pray you get either. Perhaps the former. 

For your sake, the former.
For my sake, the former, a voice selfishly adds.

I hate being a writer. I hate the words that my hand writes before they are written. I hate my thoughts even before they are spoken. Its not fair.

But is anything in life ever is?