I am awake.  My eyes are open.

I see my arms, strectching out in front of me, culminating in my hands, fingers obscured by knuckles.

Resting on familiar pumpkin orange sheets.  

The curtains are open, as usual.

I am awake.

I try to move my arms. They don't move.

They are immobile.

They don't move. I try to move my arms.

They don't move.

I am awake.  My eyes are open.

I see my arms, strectching out in front of me, culminating in my hands, fingers obscured by knuckles.

Resting on familiar pumpkin orange sheets.  

The curtains are open, as usual.

I am awake.

I try to move my arms. They don't move.

They are immobile Their immobility pulls me

back into my latent dream.

I am dreaming. I must use my dream arms.

I use my dream arms.  My eyes are open.

I see my arms, strectching out in front of me, culminating in my hands, fingers obscured by knuckles.

Resting on familiar pumpkin orange sheets.  

The curtains are open, as usual.  I use my dreams arms, to pick up my awake arms

and I shake them.  I see my arms, shaking.

Shaking, on familiar pumkin orange sheets.

The curtains are open as usual.

I am awake.  I get up.

water

I feel the side of my nose.  I look in the mirror.  I see a black spot. 
I squeeze it between two fingernails.  Like a pimple.  
Something black comes out.  It is solid, tubular, ribbed.  
Like a worm.  But it is not alive. It is dead. 
I pull, and  I pull more.  It is, in my nose, like a root.  I tug. I pull. 
It keeps coming.  Then. I've reached the end.  I've pulled it all out.  
And another one appears.  A small black tip, emerging slowly.  
I pull again.  I feel it, rooted in my face.  It comes more easily now.  Out.  Like solid poison, out from my body.