I feel clean,
Purged,
In that
Sleeplessness feeling.
Like I never slept,
Never dreamt,
Only stayed fully conscious
And greeted the dawn,
Who was bright
In the cloudless sky.
Continuous chills,
And lightened feel.
As though I have been scrubbed
With soap and rinsed off in a cold rain shower.
Purged.
Contented in ways
That are rare.
As though some strange catharsis
Had taken place
When I was not looking.
It is that feel of
Sun rays.
Clean and sleepy.
And it feels as though it should be warm outside,
With small pink flowers
And green trees
And zephyrs.
But the stagnant snow
Is still loafing around on the ground,
Melting into soggy little puddles.
And I don't know
Why.
Why it is not springtime.
And why the birds don't sing.
Clean.
And I don't know why.
In spite of all of these
Utterly awful things that happen
To people,
It is clean.
All the blood washed off the faces of victims
All the bad guys put away.
It is like being pushed into a pool
With all of your clothes still on.
And in the morning sunlight,
In crisply cleaned sheets,
The day is already awake.
And now I am too,
In the realm of these living ones.
It is a strange thing,
Waking.
From places unknown.
To end up back in your bed.
When really,
We could wake up
Anywhere in the world.
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