I awake in the deep
of the well,
of my sleep
and I shake and I jerk
violently in the deep
of the well,
in my sleep
and the sentence
is all but complete
in the well
in my sleep
and confessions
come out of the well
in my sleep

and it all hardly feels
hardly well
at all
(good night J,)
"sweet dreams terror" sighs me
and I don't feel hardly well,
not at all
like me
but the truth
is a lot more ugly
and looks more like me
in the well,
in my sleep

so I fight to dream
the dreams that I dream
of the uglier me,
the mirrors I stand before
planting escape
just before I awake
from the awful mistakes
that I make
and the "better off dead"
re-counting calls
over calls
prepare days to amend
the wrongs in my head
that demand to be fixed
whose supplies can't be met
and whose sorrows I've--
borrowed acquaintances
and made myself apart of
and been lost of
in the well
of the deep
of my sleep.