Apparently, I got up, went and got a notebook and pencil, and wrote this. I somewhat remember doing it, but only in that vague sleepwalker-memory way. Its not the first time I've written things in my sleep, but it is the first thing written in poem-like form. Here it is:
I will buy your dreams.
You're not using them.
I buy all kinds, what have you got?
Dreams of flying. Dreams of falling.
Black dreams, Color Dreams,
I'll take them all.
Nightmares are worth more, I'll pay half again.
I'll even buy daydreams, simple as they seem.
You wont notice they're gone.
I will buy your dreams,
I can sell them to better dreamers.
I'll sell them for high prices: the color in the dreamer's eyes, or a memory of intimacy. Their sense of direction, maybe.
I will buy your dreams. I am the dream seller.
You're better off without them.
I can carry almost an infinite number, so I will take them all. They're mostly wasted on you.
I will buy your dreams. You wont miss them.
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