Why Can’t You Wake Up

It starts at the tips of my toes,

spreads through my calves like a knife

and reaches the very insides of my teeth.

An unknown fear, chilling my spine

like a sudden unwelcome winter.

I whisper to myself,

“It’s just a dream, why can’t you wake up?”.

 

I see intruders. People who do not belong

in the insides of my mind, walking around,

like trespassers, so powerful, so free.

I whisper to myself,

“It’s just a dream, why can’t you wake up?”.

 

I’ve robbed banks. Killed people.

Murdered in cold blood. I’ve died.

I’ve felt my mother dying in a dream, inside a dream.

I whisper to myself,

“It’s just a dream, why can’t you wake up?”.

 

I’ve felt the burden of someone’s hands around my chest.

Blue blood, dripping from my wrists,

stone cold, sweaty palms.

I whisper to myself,

“It’s just a dream, why can’t you wake up?”.

 

It’s a scary when dreams end in ends,

when throats are parched dry in mornings.

It’s a scary disease when you know

It’s a dream and you can’t wake up.

 

Why can’t you wake up?

 

This poem is about sleep paralysis, which is basically being aware inside a dream of the fact that they are dreaming, but can’t wake up because the muscles won’t really respond to any stimuli you send to them. For people who want to know more about it, can read stuff here. For those who have experienced it, I feel you. Good luck with it.