the deceit of dreams

the chance to dream means the chance for nightmares. a dream without its mirror is not a dream; it is a lie. and yet ignorance is bliss and i suppose bliss wins all.

i don't remember my dreams anymore and sometimes i'm sure it's a conscious decision. i think if i cannot remember the good i will not remember the bad. then what is there left to love? am i so afraid of the monsters in my mind that i turn away all chances to live? there is no flight without first a fall. i refuse to fall. i'm stuck in the white space called repression. it's comfortable, it's safe. it's hell.

so, let us ask then what lies behind the suppression of a dream. does each suppression build? i can feel the pressure between my eyes. perhaps they fall away, shedding off with each forgotten promise. do repressed reveries melt off my skin, dripping radioactive sludge? one day it might kill me. haha;

oh, the irony of erasure.