Shattered Pieces (Work In Progress)

I have a dream, in the sense that in my sleep I come alive. I am enchanted by the non-reality, by the ease at which I could sink into the beautiful despair of my unconsciousness. Deep into a darkness that holds more light and more promise than the harshness that comes with awakening. In my dream, in my enchantment, I am whole. Imagine that. I often allow myself a moment of inner reflection. I see myself how I wish to be and like a mirror when I reach for that wish it reaches right back but all I feel is the cold glass of disappointment rather than the ever elusive porthole to another me. I want to hide. Hide under the proverbial duvet in an effort not to escape a new morning but to escape an old life. I feel trampled and the only one to blame is me. I am at that turning point where I can clearly see that people have only treated me how I allowed them to. A lack of strength, a lack of insight on my part has made me open to the overbearing influences of others. When I breathe, sometimes even that is painful as I try to oxygenate my distracted heart. It shouldn’t be, such an integral part of existence should be performed without thought. Performed as easily as I gave my anxious heart an unworthy focus and readied it to be broken. And break it did with a crescendo of shattered pieces.