Playing records on the moon

At night I dream
Of what the days will be
Of the place I take,
When I am not fearing every mistake.
The cloudy nights,
Where stars remain hidden,
I take on these fearful dreams
And untangle the strings of my every thought.

However,
When the stars rise from the depths of the hills
And the moon is no longer an all encompassing surface,
But a spiral from which all light finds a purpose. 
It is then, from the safety of my bed that I wind up the curtains. 
I am bound to stay awake. 
To watch the sky dissipate,
And fade as the morning eve rears its head. 
But before the freckled darkness leaves.
I find traces of hope in the constellations,
And pretend that I too have a place in the sky.

I’d slow dance with you on the moon
To records too sweet to be true
And sing softly:
“ Whether together or a part
You’ll have my heart” 
To a person not yet known,
To someone that all the love songs tell me I’ll call home,
I’ll be dreaming,
Somewhere deep in the sky.

But pretend as I might
At the end of the night,
I will slowly fall back to earth.
Since birth 
I have crawled this land
And till’ death I walk on borrowed steps

No matter how hard I try
I always fall back to sleep before the morning heat arrives
And my thoughts twist as my sheets tangle
Limbs in scramble
I wake up to an empty space
Feeling tingles lacing up my legs
From dancing dreams fabricated in a haze
The time before sleep and wake,
I am captured in that lovely place.
Where I know not that I am dreaming of the moon,
Of the records too sweet to be true,

And when reality comes knocking,
I answer it churlishly
Hoping for it to leave before I get to the door
It has immaculate patients
And never minds waiting
But the smile slowly fades
As I wade throughout my day
Memories of adventures gain distance
And my idealistic world becomes hidden

If only the clouds covered up the stars
My curtains would have never opened
My dreams would be fragments of nightmares pieced together
And reality knocking on my door would be a welcomed visitor.
At least then I would not be struck with disappointment,

But then again, 
I have no choice in the matter
no reign over my unconsious thought
because either way,
when the night drifts back into the atmosphere
I’ll be waiting for you to fly me to the moon
or to plague me with worry.
Let there be joy or fear,
and above all else
Let the melody play on.
 

Maria

VT

19 years old

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    If anxiety could speak