Bloodshot and Bedroom Eyes

I am scheming tonight, to have a bad dream.

If I awake loud and rudely enough,

Maybe I can elicit some form of affection.

Perhaps even a kiss, to quiet the devils,

And send the bogeymen back to the closet

It is cold where we sleep, so the sweats will be quite

An accomplishment. Perhaps another comforter

(Or even two) will complete this deed.

If I defeat the urge to sleep until my eyelids

Become anvils, maybe I can even break a capillary.

After all, bloodshot is the new bedroom,

As far as eyes are concerned.

As you lie there next to me, far beyond forty winks

I can't help but notice the rhythm of your breathing,

As if it is setting the music for your dancing eyes.

It's half past witching, and I violently awake!

"I've had a nightmare!" I cry, and I scream

For your rescue.

(Nothing)

The only returning sound

Is that of mocking echoes.

As you lay there motionless, my plan lay foiled

In obvious, pathetic silence.

Your closed eyes no longer dance

Your musical breath, now caught tightly in your throat

And for a moment, I see a lonesome tear.

Falling abandoned, as we are.

Yours Always,