Sweet Dreams

I took the grime in at a glance,
The dirty dishes, underpants -
Tossed aside by happenstance,
and strewn upon the floor.

I watched you grope for who to be -
You'd lost your touch, you lacked the grace,
You used to wear while choosing face,
To wear instead of bearing me.

And we had yet to even touch.
This is too much.

You settled then upon the friend,
The host, the bluff and hearty man,
That one that we both hate and scorn!
This is the face you chose?

Well, what shall we compose?

I resigned myself to a difficult task, and looked around the room again for inspiration.
There was little to delight me on the floor,
but I turned my gaze upwards - and what is this?
A little white bottle,
on the desk,
innocent.

You had the decency to look ashamed.
I found my voice.

"And what is this?"

You looked at me.
Of course, I knew.
But to voice it made you know my disgust.

"I come calling at the open door,
A door long closed, a door long locked,
But I did not come expecting war,
A prison cell, a rifle cocked - "

"Don't stanza me," you cut me off -
"I know that it looks bad, to you,
But you aren't here often enough,
To keep the dreams at bay -"

"Rhyme, my boy" I said, nonplussed.
"At least do that - for am I not
here as often as I must?
It is through me you stop the rot!

And this, this is your shield?
To pat you softly on the head?
To send you softly to your bed,
At mercy of the powers you wield?"

I lifted the bottle.
Diazepam.
There was no rhyme there.

"You dream the soft sleep of the drugged and duped."

"What of it?" you demanded.
"So what? I take a pill to sleep at night, I hold the terrors of the night at bay, and I am still -"

"A slave. This is but a symptom, a sign of doom, gloom - there's no more room!" I was enraged. "You are still what? Alive? Yourself? A man? Do you dare to do all that may become one? Are you least yourself when you wear your own face? Do you look out of your tower and think of birds?"

Now you were annoyed. "You speak nonsense."

I was unrelenting. "Shall I give you a mask, so that you will tell me the truth? You had trouble choosing, when I came in."

You retrieved the bottle from my shaking fingers. I could feel myself unravelling. Structure was forsaken. Verbosity was deserting me, and I could see in your eyes that you felt it too. There was no unity, no completeness. There was no singular purpose, no completed work, and yet I was being pulled away. Something was wrong. Something was wro -

You unscrewed the top of the bottle and tipped a tiny pill into your hand.
You brought the pill to your mouth.
You swallowed.

"Sweet dreams."

I could not tell if it was your voice or mine.