The thing about being a Nightwalker is:

You have to face the terror.

Visceral, pounding blood. Bones that crack beneath the weight of too much adrenaline. An impending knowledge that you, among these toothy tombs, are as strong as a twig against a mighty wind.

You are a Nightwalker. One who walks through the dreams of the despairing. Who can clamber up, and down—move among the dwelling horrors of the twilight hour.

A Nightwalker sees a nightmare.

And he can’t look away.

A Nightwalker, in order to survive, must keep moving. Must keep burning. Must keep fighting.

You must face the terror.


Perish. Continue reading “Nightwalker”

Lingering Awareness

Awareness is a commodity. Not something that everyone has. It’s a skill that can’t really be learned, so much as grown. If you aren’t born with an innate sense of awareness, then it takes years—years—to cultivate. And, believe me, it’s a skill that you want. Something you should aspire to acquire. A skill that is quite useful.

How so?

Well, the very nature of awareness is useful.

Awareness is the feeling of someone’s eyes watching you. Knowing there’s something lurking in the shadows. Awareness gives you sense enough not to walk into a dark alley in the middle of the night. To keep your distance from groups of strangers. To cross the street when there’s a ruckus up ahead. Awareness is the thing that keeps you—in most accounts—alive. If it weren’t for awareness, you’d simply walk into any dark corner and never make it back out. Awareness is knowing that you are not always the hunter. Sometimes, you are the prey. Awareness is what gives you a mind to think proactively in your own defense.

Quite a useful thing, if you ask me.


There is a point.

A threshold.

A place where awareness deepens. Sinks into the very fabric of your soul. Causes your sense to dive further.

Awareness can keep you alive, yes.


It’s not always a gift. Continue reading “Lingering Awareness”

Breaking From The Pond

I was on a ship.

And it wasn’t mine.

I was on a ship, stuck in a pond, forced to watch the sun dip behind the ocean, all while stuck on this ship that wasn’t mine, in a pond that was unfamiliar to me, in a land that I only knew from a dream long ago.

I was stuck on this ship.

In this pond.

Watching the sun set over the horizon. Promising stars and guidance on the other side of the skyline. Out there, in the wild of the ocean, I could sail. Guided by thousands of burning lights.


I was stuck.

On this ship that wasn’t mine.

In this infinitesimally small pond.

Int his land that was completely foreign to me.

No, this ship, and this pond, and this land… it definitely wasn’t mine.

It was his. Continue reading “Breaking From The Pond”

Hazy Dreams, Sleeping Memory

A hundred years I slept.

Do you know how many dreams you can have in a hundred years?

A lot.

An awful lot.

Especially if you’re sleeping through those hundred years.

Things start to make less and less sense as you sleep. Was that a memory that just floated by? Or another dream? Is this dissipating fog real?

Or not?

When you wake, everything rests in that cloud of dreams. Of memories. Stuck in the valley of things that come and go. Of things that can be barely seen, and never grasped

What’s real?

What’s not?

After a hundred years of sleep…

It’s hard to tell.

Continue reading “Hazy Dreams, Sleeping Memory”

Broken Revision

Let me ask you something:

If something is broke—so broke you can’t fix it—what do you do with it?


That’s what I’m saying.

Granted, the same thing shouldn’t apply to people. It shouldn’t work the same. Especially when people claim to be for the greater good. Claim that they stand for something more. Stand for better times, or hope, or peace, or whatever. You’d think that they—of all people—would be a little more patient. A little more forgiving.

Let me tell you something:

They’re not.

Continue reading “Broken Revision”

Dark Comes the Nightmare

I had a nightmare last night.

It was of you.


There was this hole.

And there was a feeling. A dream feeling, with no real start. No roots. Only meaning, and certainty, despite it ghosting in. Despite it having no right to exist.

A feeling like I would never get to you. Continue reading “Dark Comes the Nightmare”

Farthest Dreams

I’ve never understood falling for someone you could only dream of.

Someone who was too far away from you. Who was too good for you. Falling for someone who only appeared in your dreams. Who could only exist in the most make-believe of realities. Or someone who’s been gone for too long. For so long. Someone who can’t be where you are.

I’ve never understood falling for someone you can only dream about.

I’ve only ever fallen for what’s before my eyes. For what I can have right in front of me. For people who are within reach. For those who I can simply reach out and touch.

And that’s hypocritical.

And that’s a lie.

Because I do understand it.

I didn’t before I met him.

But I do now. Continue reading “Farthest Dreams”

Kindred Traveler

There’s this road that keeps coming up. It’s not in my dreams, but it sure does feel like it. Just staring down the road gives you that heady feeling. Like sleep should be the number one priority of this moment, but, somehow, pictures and words and sounds are invading.

It’s got that feel.

Like the road is coated in sleep-fog. The kind of dreams.

But it isn’t.

It’s a real road.

A road that you can travel.

For sure.

I know.

Not because I’ve traveled it (though, I am now).

But because you traveled it. Continue reading “Kindred Traveler”

Dream Keeper

I don’t make music, and my dreams are generally just for me, but…

That doesn’t mean I don’t have an imagination.

In fact, I don’t just have an imagination.

am imagination.

Don’t believe me?

Then take a snooze. Dream a dream.

See if I can’t make it reality. Continue reading “Dream Keeper”

Nightmare Beyond Sleep

Let me ask you this:

When a child’s dream fails, what remains?

Obvious, isn’t it?

When a child’s dream fails, all that remains is the shell of it. The failure that looms at the back of their mind. It sits on the tips of their fingers. It’s the first thing they touch whenever they make a move. That plague of knowing you’ve failed sits and waits, wanting nothing more than to devour them.

When a child’s dream fails, what’s left?

A nightmare. Continue reading “Nightmare Beyond Sleep”