Sleep Talking

I wish I could have a dream vibrant enough that it numbs me,

But these city streets whisper my name, and I can’t sleep.

From the old school by my building to the grand sky above me,

The ghosts of these boulevards are bleeding out in my sheets.

People tell me I scream through my dreams from time to time,

And I put on a stoic face and tell them not to worry.

The falsely accused and the guilty want to steal what’s mine

While the humming churches spit out fog until I turn blurry.

Dark fantasies buzz around my head like a cloud of bees.

With each coming sunset their wings get sharper and sharper.

I keep begging the city for silence on my bruised knees,

But the grey man by the cemetery tells me to put on my armor.

I wish I could have a moment of freshly pressed loneliness.

I would stick out my tongue and let it fill my head with quiet.

Yet, the more I wish, the more these loud streets confess.

It is like they are sleep talking their way into a riot.

-Jackie