The Middle Of The Night (Wakeful Dreaming)

rain on me
quench the fire
ingiting in my head
in the middle of the night

evil soldiers chase
in the russian winter's cold
guns fired from trees like icicles feel
falling to form this frozen cage

dark thoughts vibrate
in a chattering mindful attempt at quiet
in dissarray, in darkness mired
in the middle of the night

there are no stars to been seen
a total absence of tendencies
ran out of glow paint a galaxy too soon
but the show goes on anyway.

every time the clock stops
and eyes close and the face locks
and shields of supernatural defense
while desirable, are ultimately dropped.

the film flapping on a reel
runs out before the final scene
the budget is cut, production abruptly
shuttered when at long last there is light.

you can call them monsters
they all take their delights
tiny pills are stepping stones into the abyss
in the middle of the night.