Nightmare

Last night, I dreamt vividly of a nightmarish dystopian future
that I lived on an extra-solar planet,
and it imprisoned me because of humanoid appearing aliens.

The purple necked aliens wore metallic masks to hide their true features.

They guarded us in a limestone cave like we were prisoners for some mysterious purpose
on this planet with similar physical properties as Earth.

We lived in a wrongdoing world but on the outside it reminisced of greenery and vibrancy akin to reality;

we misunderstood the aliens' benevolent intent and we engaged in petty embroilments;
the freedom they revoked, and the rules they enforced
angered the most peaceful men,
for we held low in our vapid gaze a foreboding of an apocalypse,
and the time became closer.

Though, the aliens could not speak,
they spoke and we judged their odd mannerisms, actions.
We knew the improbability of survival from the next swarm of the alien species of musquitos.

Recognizing the demonic nature of these beasts from the enclosure,
immediate fear provided a rush of adrenaline because of the menacing,
shining metallic artificialness of the light that occasionally flickered--
the lightning as of from super advanced telecommunication devices that powered itself
from the natural charge of the atmosphere, between them, and from one to one

one to all the rest.
Our radio receivers picked up the extra terrestrial noise of an open neural network. 

Figuring we may remain alive, the communication simmered and it was again uncannily silent.

As the unfriendly lights augmented itself,
And as we could make out their shapes and sizes,
Flying like sentient animals,
whoever had them purposed wanted us eaten.

During the day, light seeped inside our cave,
so we wouldn't feel completely dazed for the special hour;
helplessly, and hopelessly we dazed into the mesmerizing bright weapons.

I briefly timed myself for an unanswered prayer as I sat on a limestone
bench,

and I pondered my low status of this dismal microscopic instant.
For all my life I believed in arrogance, beauty, and perfection,
but truly I am meant for the poor, ignorant, and dispensable.

Never believing in the religion--the impending doom--I
believed in would one day unfold.
The swarm approached steadfast, uncomfortably malignant.

And we worried ourselves about the occasional spark of lightning since it meant they were nearly charged...
In my dream the dusk flew your point of view as if it were a wisp through a
windowless gap of otherworldy cave.

I made contact with the humanoid aliens,
and I no longer belonged to my species:
I became an alien.

The alien me and myself correlated in intellect,
though I could think of things I never dreamed.
As an extra terrestrial I stood outside, and guarded the entrance--
not to maintain dominance or control--but to guard my former selves from them!
An alien is not a brute--
I was part of a resistance to save all forms of life,
to save the last of humanity from the lack of enough ingenuity
like how the dog lagged behind from the masters,
like how we pick up the weaker ones from their stupidity,
and like how we control the gravity of the cosmos through extra-planar quantum mechanics.

The swarm attacked us from all directions;
I was gifted and ascribed an unfair status at birth;

and my symbolically ascribed mask;
and my purple skin,
painted on me, by my parents,
to kill the moscuitos infestation,
to repel with actions and not maledictions,

though it could not withstand the onslaught,
history through the ages, though we'd be gone,
would provide evidence for a recollect:
this day, too many held hunger like empty, bottomless pits,
and this alien civilization attempted to save humanity not from themselves,
but from the beasty moscuitos.

I telepathically communicated my thoughts to my former self--the captive--

And in the final actions:
I fought the lifeless, the corrupt,
but they robbed me of my flesh,
they gnawed and sucked my soul dry,
starting around his neck;

my interiors disappeared, and it fed them.

I could see myself again in the cave.

And as I lay there, dead, I regretted becoming helpless, a coward, and a failure;
'All my thoughts a stream--now a dried river basin.