By Damien Knight

Is wide awake dreaming
Is a crowded room alone
Is darkness light
Is lost never found

The oxymoron
Is this dead life
That I keep
Insisting upon

Black blood drips
Upon her delicate
Pale living flesh
And I slip

Into a realistic fantasy
As the death mixes
With her life
A pleasurable sea

But eventually I awake
And the oxymorons
Are all dried up
With my empty tears