Two lives, one at night when the insentient life floats up to
the surface of awareness; parts of life lived, veiled desires,
and repulsive thoughts looking for an vendor who bitterly
refuses having given births to such decadence. But they are
there, luckily only for the dreamer to see when his defence
is down and he squirms in the cold mirror of truths.
The dreamer cannot shut out voices of those who have died
calling his name; his duvet is a glacier of terror that knows no
mercy. An icon falls off the wall, the sound of breaking glass.
He cannot open his eyes will himself to awaken, meet or run
from the gruesome thing that hovers in his bedroom.
Dawn, the other life begins, and far away a cockerel crows
three times, a dog barks, he is free of his terror, gets up and
steps on jagged glass.
