from sleep

dear me: by the time you get this letter you'll be free, and i suppose it's for the better. you need sleep, but these dreams will never be clean, or, for that matter, stop getting wetter and believe me, you'll never get her sweet screams or even the measly pleasure of getting to bed her mean streets. drums beat to something permanent: the numb deeps or at least a burning end. come, steep in something permanent. unclean but at least you're born again. her gleam's peaks, her mean streaks. you teen freak, you weak fiend, you keen creep. you speak? please. get yourself back together. sincerely, your indebtor, real me.