The sight of my eyelids pulls me back
from my dream.
I awake to awareness of air pressing on
me,
Gasping for breathe, held frozen in
place.
I can't feel my legs or my hands or my
face.
I hear the roar of orbit, of air
rushing past.
All's a blur, 'til the moment fades,
and I move again at last.
This poem is based on sleep paralysis (ISP) and not a mini-freakout during a drug trip. I assume that is at least somewhat different from ISP, although they do say everyone experiences the upgrade differently.
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