the boy with the thorn in his side

I've had reoccurring nightmares like yours,
only more lucid; only more real.
They follow me into my waking life,
haunting my hours before I even close my eyes.
You wrote a novella,
and stripped your mind naked
for the world to see,
to devour,
to fight viciously in a pathetic effort
to figure you out.
And they never will.

I find it hilarious.

I've told my one or two readers many times
of my dreams,
spelled out in metaphors and symbols,
heavily cryptic.
I've opened my mind and poured my thoughts,
memories, hopes, wishes, dreams..
and nightmares...
onto this blog.

What do I get?

Clarity I suppose.
Was that your reasoning for writing about The Boy?
To sort out the memories of such nightmares
in your mind, and to try and figure your own self out?

Aha, I hope you've found some distinction between
your illusions and your insanity.
I think you're mixing the two,
and suddenly your reality has become so surreal,
it's almost as if you're living in a dream.

Oh, but you are.