Friday, December 26, 2008

This is really strange

Me having trouble getting sleep at night or being woken up by weird nightmares is no new story. But last night things decided to take a different turn. I usually don't remember what my nightmares were, let alone what they mean. My mind is blank once I wake up. But last night, I remember the last bit of my nightmare; the part just before I woke up in a cold sweat.

The nightmare/what I remember of it:
It was the usual things - violent, with blood squirting, people screaming and all that. Towards the end of the nightmare I remember telling myself to write down what just happened. Turns out that in some sub-conscious level I knew what exactly was happening. And suddenly the scenes change. I am back in my room, writing down what had just happened. I then fold the paper over and put it inside my cupboard before going to bed. After this, I wake up with a start.

Now am actually awake and feeling all weird. The clock showed that it was half past 2. I remember seeing several familiar faces being smashed and throats being slit in differnet scenes, so I decided to call up one of them and check if everything was OK. (Yes, I know it sounds silly now, but I was in a different frame of mind then) Turned out he was fast asleep, assured me nothing is wrong and asked me to try and catch some sleep. Which I eventually did.

I woke up again around 6, went through my ablutions and was about to get ready to go to work. I opened my cupboard, and strangely enough, I see a paper folded over and placed on top of my clothes.

I opened it, read it and flipped out. This is what was written, in my shabby handwriting, describing something very similar to the nightmare I had:

So, you think you have me all figured out
My choice of whiskey, the shape of my nose
When I like to shout, and when am at repose
The smell of my armpits and curve of my back
My favorite colors -- blue and lilac
You think you know me inside out,
without the least shadow of doubt

But you've missed the warning sign on my head
Telling you stories of men who are dead
Who did not listen to what was said
As they willingly came for the warmth of bed

So, you think you have me all figured out
Name, middle name, surname, nickname
bank accounts, friends, previous flames
You have it all, you proclaim
Typed out and saved under one filename
To gather, sort, file and route
After all, that's exactly for what you were cutout

I won't stop as you try in earnest
to coo and swoon me in your inflamed lust
For this is my sport, my only joy
As I watch one by one, man after boy
Walk willingly towards my burgeoning breasts
Not knowing it's their life's final sunset

Another one bites the dust
But there are still too many left
I am waiting; weaving my web of lust
Until I stumble upon the next

Now what do I make of that?

1 comment:

  1. Wow. Real strange. Remember the peas-in-the-pod story Y used to talk about?


    And it has to be in poetry form. Lol. Guess it's some vague character you thought of. You're the scare-men-away kind, not the big breasted man eater types.

    (I guess I can say this cos you don't publish comments anyway :)


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