She was in my dream again,
It’s been awhile since she existed.
Researching my subconscious,
She wasn’t catalogued or listed.
Clearly she never left,
The dark recesses of my heart.
I tried so long to let her go,
But my mind didn’t want to part.

Walking amongst the stacks,
The volumes of her smile.
They way she used to laugh,
A story written in her style.
I’ll find her in the fantasy section,
Where nothing is what it seems.
The fiction of my fallacies,
It’s the library of my dreams.

Don’t need her in my dreams again,
For this is how I fell.
An inquiry into my subliminal,
Remembering a descent into hell.
I think I fell in love,
Or maybe just filled a hole.
She left a mark upon my being,
But a scar upon my soul.

Walking amongst the stacks,
First editions of my affections.
Hardcover memories,
Amongst paperback recollections.
I’ll find her in the ancient histories,
Of foreign and strange regimes.
The chronicles of delusions,
It’s the library of my dreams.

She placed me on a shelf,
Like a book that had been returned.
She left my soul smoldering,
Like a book that had been burned.
She cursed my name aloud,
Within some fucked up story time.
Then she put me to bed,
With some fucked up nursery rhyme.

She was in my dream again,
A page of an unconscious thought.
A tragedy of sorts,
Memories of the pain that she wrought.
I thought I had returned that book,
But there it sits on my end table.
I promise to never think of her again,
But I know that’s just a fable.

Walking amongst the stacks,
A literature of longing.
A choose your own adventure,
Without a feeling of belonging.
I’ll find her with the dramas,
A true Shakespearean scene.
My folklore of facetiousness,
It’s the library of my dreams.



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