Another Bad Dream

[Halfwrittenpoem]

It is clear that my clouded thoughts disperse and
I am more awake when I am asleep at home: sober and alert.
When the lights switch off at night, I quietly sneak out the door
And run to a vast, dark mansion on the outskirts of my mind.
No winds blow here.

I am walking down the hallways of an abandoned dream
With a transient architectural integrity, words graffitied on
Dark walls in crimson blood. The floor trembles and quakes
In response to my manic heart trashing against its metal cage.
I am lost already.

Back in my bed, there lies a motionless sculpture sinking into white
Waves of woollen covers, with bones fracturing under their weight and
Marble skin itchy with friction. I try to swim up against the relentless
Visions of yesterday, but I can’t trace my steps back to the entrance.
I simply cannot leave.

It is impossible to be at two places at once, but I have successfully
Replicated myself somehow. Look! Another one of me. Now, where did
She come from? The rooms echo with whispers of all my presumable
Identities and I open a door to one with mirrors for all four walls.
Infinite twins greet me.

I am confronted with the girls imprisoned in lustrous, polished metal
claiming a piece of my present flesh in exchange for freedom from every
Paradox that renders me unable to sleep. My body becomes a conduit
For the ghosts of my past. I wake up aging backwards, living on repeat.
Living inside a dream.

[CalebPerry]

I like the fact that you write in complete sentences that have good grammar and syntax. I can't emphasize that enough, given that a lot of modern poetry is written in fragments.

However, the language of your poem has a heavy, ponderous quality which makes it dense. It doesn't help that the dreams of one person are generally not that interesting to other people because dreams are, by definition, not real. In addition, the events that you are describing have that chaotic, unreal quality that dreams have, which makes your poem all the harder to relate to.

A good writer always thinks of the reader. Striking that balance between expressing your personal feelings and experiences, and doing it in a way that will engage a reader is extraordinarily difficult. My dreams are very important to me because they are a clue to my motivations, but I don't expect anyone else to find them interesting -- except perhaps my psychiatrist.

[Halfwrittenpoem]

Perry
Thank you for your helpful comments. I appreciate you recognizing the effort put into creating complete, grammatically correct sentences. I understand how the poem's premise might not be interesting for all readers and I intend to work around its theme keeping your critique in mind.
Thanks again for the read!
Regards

Sargam.

[bjondon]

Hello Sargam,
I do like this. I began with a list of negatives but gradually
it dawned on me that the confusions of syntax, geography
and time were quite specifically intended to approach the
disorientation and sheer panic of a 'waking nightmare'.
Whether this is about a bad dream or some sort of psychosis,
or even 'night terrors' where you wake but are both paralysed
and completely terrified I am not yet sure. But a very effective piece.
Regards,
Jules

[Halfwrittenpoem]

Jules,
Thank you for the comments. As you correctly pointed out, I had intended imitate the ambiguity of dreams using different landscapes and the poem was meant to be about an episode of sleep paralysis which makes the dream feel endless. I understand I failed to get that point across with clarity and will be working on the same.
Thanks again!
Regards,

Sargam.

[ton321]

It is clear that my clouded thoughts disperse and
I am more awake when I am asleep at home: sober and alert.
When the lights switch off at night, I quietly sneak out the door
And run to a vast, dark mansion on the outskirts of my mind.
No winds blow here.

I am walking down the hallways of an abandoned dream
With a transient architectural integrity, words graffitied on
Dark walls in crimson blood. The floor trembles and quakes
In response to my manic heart trashing against its metal cage.
I am lost already.

Back in my bed, there lies a motionless sculpture sinking into white
Waves of woollen covers, with bones fracturing under their weight and
Marble skin itchy with friction. I try to swim up against the relentless
Visions of yesterday, but I can’t trace my steps back to the entrance.
I simply cannot leave.

It is impossible to be at two places at once, but I have successfully
Replicated myself somehow. Look! Another one of me. Now, where did
She come from? The rooms echo with whispers of all my presumable
Identities and I open a door to one with mirrors for all four walls.
Infinite twins greet me.

I am confronted with the girls imprisoned in lustrous, polished metal
claiming a piece of my present flesh in exchange for freedom from every
Paradox that renders me unable to sleep. My body becomes a conduit
For the ghosts of my past. I wake up aging backwards, living on repeat.
Living inside a dream.

Hi Sargam,
I liked parts of it, especially the passage

Back in my bed, there lies a motionless sculpture sinking into white
Waves of woollen covers, with bones fracturing under their weight and
Marble skin itchy with friction

I think this would make a good prose-poem, lump it all together and you are good to go. There is a problem with writing about dreams or nightmares
in that it needs grounding now and and again ie you need some "reality" to highlight the dream-state now and again- light needs dark otherwise it is too much. Also what did the dream make you feel like when you woke up? At the moment it's a "Silent Hill" prose poem.
Tony