the beauty of dreams.

he'll come in ripped jeans and spiky hair
put his sweatshirt over me when i'm sleeping
i'll reach out to him in the dead of night
but he disappears
vanishes
ruffles perfect hands through my hair, then leaves
me alone again.
sometimes he'll leave me a surprise
a poem, a rose, a picture-
the face is always blurry
and there's never a name.
he thinks i'm beautiful,
sometimes he'll tell me that when he visits at night
but i never know whether to believe-
is this for real? will he be real if-
will he disappear if-
so for now he just stays inside my head
living there
maybe loving it there, but maybe not-
i'll never really know-
not something i want to lose-
am i delusional?
this ghost has my heart
my living dead punk angel-
he'll come tonight you see
he'll come to see me            again
every night he puts his sweatshirt on me
so i "dont get cold" he says-
every morning its gone-
and i wish it would stay, because
it smells so damn good,
not how you would think
a punk angel would smell,
he'll come back tonight-
you might not see him though,
his boots make no noise,
he bumps into nothing
while i sleep
disturbed because he has not come yet
and i am shivering
waiting for what they say does not exist
but they haven't met him
my living dead punk angel
he'll come tonight you see
he'll come to see me             again

ALeKoNa           8.1.99

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