Awake In My Arms You Cry Unharmed

Once I learnt that dreams were merely succubus in nature, they cockteased you with possibilities of the other life you wished you had or with the ones you had and lost.

Only the dark materials of the underworld match such villainous seductions.

I hate to dream. It's waking up from robbery of existences. The best kinds.

If God had exiled from the Silver City, then He must have come to the dreamworld. The familiar touch of snatching away paradises as soon as they were given to you was uncanny.

The bully and the kid with lollipop. Mother of all bullies.

I couldn't remember most of them dreams. Just dull heartaches of not knowing what killed me. Some of which I could remember were the worst of all them dreams. They became the ones which haunted me from then on.

There was this one few years ago, Joyce was sitting beside me on a double decker bus. The temperature was sub zero, the windows misting and the imagery's all bruised. She pulled out a large blanket and covered us. You could never picture how heart wrenching it was when I woke up to find myself alone. Alone in the sunshine.

I hate to dream because I am powerless to live it. I loathe to be the passenger, the pillion. I started to figure out how not to dream again. How do you fight dream? They conquered me again and again, usually three to four times a month.

I dreamt that I was on a roller coaster adventure with Alfred and Ah Boon.

I dreamt that I was holding a wondrous conversation with Marcus.

The worst of all, the motherfucker of all bullies: I dreamt that I was in a park with Joyce, she turned around and asked me coldly, 'It's been so many years, how come you have never come and find me?'

I woke up in million pieces and in the back of my head I screamed to get back. So bad, I want to squeeze myself back into dreaming! I want to go back into the park, take her hands and stay with her there forever. I flopped myself back in the bed, away from sunshine, my head deep in covers, my eyes shut real tight. Let me go back. But it doesn't work that way. I'm just a passenger, in your one way trip, in your candy car of 'what ifs'.

I hate to dream. So bad that once I discovered that them dreams usually come at the REM cycle of sleep, I set alarm clocks to wake me up in intervals between a single night, so I could not lapse into REM dreams.

If I look tired to you and eyes shot, kindly pardon me, I had been up fighting myself.