The Unconscious Process

Within the cold, wet, dreary night,

I open my eyes to the power of the subconscious mind.

Closing my eyes in order to see,

A warped, twisted world that sets my lonely subconscious free.

The melted clock on the wall assures me there is no such thing as time,

As the bells of silence rejoice this broken paradigm.

A statue looks down on me and begins smiling,

Her warm features telling me I'm safe - but she is lying.

I continue the journey whilst picking up the small, decadent pieces. Much like Hansel and Gretel.

Choosing to ignore that each ghastly bite tastes like tasteless metal.

The seagulls squark in anger and the jellyfish fail to stand,

The sharks pass their judgement and exile me to the land.

To forget their misjustice I wash them away with whiskey as I pray for the cold air to hit my lungs.

For it is now I know that I am drowning, as I hear the crowd speak in tongues.

Questioning the need to see through the windows of the soul;

When perhaps we are safest gazing through the humble peep-hole.

As I wake in the morning, still dreary and my hair speaks of mess,

I am truly awakened by the power of the unconscious process.