Fever Dreams

Fever Dreams

A Poem by Anti Phalanx

Do you ever get fever dreams?
It's a slow and painful night that lasts a dozen with a million cold sweats personified from the surrealist intentions of your brain in guzzling streams.
I get fever dreams.
I get worms shifting around me but I'm surrounded only by sea, thriving dead eyes scream crazy angelic cries and echoes from ants are heard discussing fascist regimes.
I don't sleep during fever dreams.
I get paranoia of people, perpetrating with plastic personality perceptive to ponderers pandering, pleading perpetual perseverance  from proposed poor peers paddling on top of petted peacocks in perfectly palpable puddles.
I ask myself,
What's this fascination with the candle lit dinner?
Seeing shifting shapes, lifting, twisting, glistening and dull.
I'm lonely in long hallways, too bright to see but too dark to feel safe.
Eyes burning.
Legs twitching.
I pray for morning. I cower from monsters. I plead for sleep. I call from sights.
Thoughts delude.
Imaginations brood.
Seeing sound; scouring scores frightened from beckoning breaths.
Scheming.
As I poked myself in the eye trying to reach the back of my head,
And I stressed the importance of my colour red,
Then ask myself,
What's this fascist nation with the neon lit inner?
Thuds from afar, frequently thanking frogs feathers for a delightful meal of fish and fowl.
Thick heavy air squeezes to my lungs past a hot, dry throat.
I can see my own headache.
Each bead of imaginary sweat a scale of a sterile sable of my stem.
I can't imagine my imagination.

It's probably just a cold.

© 2015 Anti Phalanx


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Reviews

Very interesting, a tint of madness - but i expect no less from you - a great read :)

P.S. I like the alliteration ;)

Posted 9 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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1 Review
Added on May 11, 2015
Last Updated on May 11, 2015
Tags: Fever dream, Fever, Dream, Dreams

Author

Anti Phalanx
Anti Phalanx

Solihull, West Midlands, United Kingdom



About
Professional Hobbyist. I live in a box. It is my box. I like my box. I like to peak out of it once in a while & feel glad about not peaking out of it so often. It's a rather nice box. more..

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A Poem by Anti Phalanx