PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Sleep Walking


Sleep Walking

The sun glitters in the windowpanes,

My eyelids flutter, straining against the

Bright morning sun.

I cover my face with the blanket.

 

He pulls it away,

His hair falling over his eyes, his

Eyes, groggy with sleep

But his smile wide and playful, like a

Mischievous boy.

 

I push the coffee maker on,

It sputters. Hot water drops burn my hand,

I gasp, almost drop the glass.

 

He holds my wrist steady,

Places a band-aid on my burns and

Kisses the pain away.

 

The teacher is calling my name,

I’m nodding off in class, my

Homework from last night on his desk is at fault,

I don’t hear.

 

He pokes me in the ribs with

His pencil.

I sit straight. Answer the instructor.

The scrawl on my journal with his handwritten

Answer.

 

The bell rings, I drop my books.

With a sigh I lean down to pick them up.

 

His hand touches mine,

He grins. Helps me with my load.

 

The sky outside is pouring

ominous buckets of

Freezing water.

I forgot my umbrella,

The way home is no stroll.

 

He appears next to me,

Sharing his

Transparent umbrella, with

That silly smile in his eyes.

 

The bells on the shop’s door tinkle as I step

Out into the cold. The rain’s stopped.

I pull my scarf around my neck to keep me warm

From the wind’s icy kisses

 

He hugs me from behind, his arms

Envelope my shoulders, his cheeks warming mine

His whispers sending red flushes to my face.

 

I step onto the street.

I don’t look, and headlights rush in my direction.

I’m frozen stiff with fear,

He pushes me from the truck’s way,

His body on top of mine, his eyes shinning with

Tears…

 

Tears that roll down my checks,

The ice picks at my open burns,

My wet hair sends cold drops down my back,

The scolding from my instructor only a small trouble now.

 

My legs remain glued to the street.

The truck’s frenzied honking gets louder,

The wheels squeal in agony against the icy road.

 

Oh! Where is he?

 

He’s evaporated

Like stardust.
He’s gone.
It’s always been me.
Myself.


He was never there.


This morning, I

Woke up.


This morning,

I need to wake up.


The piercing scream melds with the

Truck’s terrible brakes

Into one horrible pitch-


And that’s where every dream ends,
The climax.

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.