Dreams like Cotton

I've been having sad, soft dreams and headaches lately. Like my head is protesting against the constant barrage of science and body. My dreams are filled with things of how i wish my life was (soft memories of days with my family and love and art and just beauty, beauty, beauty all around me. days of young child, memories of laughter and kisses and goodnight wishes.) Sometimes, my dreams are not nice packages of sweet nostalgia, but rough dreams of things spiraling out of my control. I dream of running, running, sometimes hiding, sometimes dying. Sometimes I am crazy, sometimes i am sane and all around me is crazy. Sometimes snow, sometimes clouds. Sometimes, she dies and I watch, living the moment again and again so I might save her. Sometimes, she hates me and I cry and cry and wait for some sort of redemption. Sometimes, i find that I know this cannot be real and cannot break away from it. Still now, awake and lucid, I feel the dreams at the edges of my mind, haunting me like a chilling requiem.

Still now, awake, I am hungover, imbibed with alcohol tasting vaguely of nightmares and drunken chaos. I have a headache, pounding and stuffing my head with cotton. I cannot think straight, instead I am dazed and parched. I feel water sloshing in my mind, like vodka in a drunk man's cup (it is bitter and sharp and pungent). My dreams feel like dry sandpaper, scraping the edges of my jagged consciousness, scratching, leaving behind scars and bruises.  Like cotton, I feel these dreams crowd (fill, stuff, pack, compress, compact) my mind and I feel dry, dry. Dry and wrung out and waiting for the rain to drown me again.