The cloud above
my eyelids, when I sleep,
convulses and shifts
like a wad of gum
being chewed
by invisible space.
It takes the shape of faces
that I recognize.
They present me with who
I am to them.
I find my value in
their made up words;
cut out like articles
from my own fears,
molded by a tangle
I can never see, but hear
faintly at the moments
when I wake.
I convince myself
it is only a part
of the nightmare.

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