its raining again
and its been raining for days
blood like ink like water
flowing away from straining fingers
and pulled quills.
somewhere the sun is shining
straight down her face
oblivious to contours
so fast
pooling at her feet
she
she spins
disappears through the door
it's my turn as defenses fail
the flood plains fill up and spill over
and over into sleep.
it's those dreams that i swear i've had before
or the dreams you swear are replays of real life
giving you the chance to say something different
regrets.
some dreams you know you're dreaming and it doesn't matter
if you scream out in the night
it doesn't matter who hears what you have to say
your second chances scream at the walls of your chest
and so you shout it out.
and you hear yourself in bed.
and you hear your second chances screaming
but it comes out in a whimper
mouth too full of spit and sleep and tongue
the sound of infants
the confusion of the mute
trying to spill out every emotion
every last word, every do-over you never had
and in the confusion
you kick and twitch, convulsing
and in the rage
you spit and grind teeth, eroding
and in the rush
your eyes flutter and furrow, repeating
every conversation you wish you could have finished before the phone hung up.
and then silence.
you wake up in bed in sweat and fear
heart races, eyes redden and unrestrained tears
and your lover is holding you in the confusion
and you're unable to process all the confusion
and you are exhausted from the marathon sleep
and you're unable to get back on your own feet
and for a split second you're holding her but it's not her
and for a split second she's telling you she loves you, but it's not her
the adrenaline filters out and the room goes dark again
and no more red.
and no more white hot.
dark. again.
the flood spills out and you can't say a word
not for lack of description;
shame.
for keeping secrets from yourself
---
i've dreamt of her for two weeks straight
and i can't tell my lover
her ears open her mind forgiving
but i can't tell my lover.
the interactions anachronistic
the reactions too kind
she left in peace with a piece
this green mile, the longest mile
the perfect length of rope
the sharpest, dirtiest needles.
the borehole.
cunning knives rest deep
and its been raining for days
blood like ink like water
flowing away from straining fingers
and pulled quills.
somewhere the sun is shining
straight down her face
oblivious to contours
so fast
pooling at her feet
she
she spins
disappears through the door
it's my turn as defenses fail
the flood plains fill up and spill over
and over into sleep.
it's those dreams that i swear i've had before
or the dreams you swear are replays of real life
giving you the chance to say something different
regrets.
some dreams you know you're dreaming and it doesn't matter
if you scream out in the night
it doesn't matter who hears what you have to say
your second chances scream at the walls of your chest
and so you shout it out.
and you hear yourself in bed.
and you hear your second chances screaming
but it comes out in a whimper
mouth too full of spit and sleep and tongue
the sound of infants
the confusion of the mute
trying to spill out every emotion
every last word, every do-over you never had
and in the confusion
you kick and twitch, convulsing
and in the rage
you spit and grind teeth, eroding
and in the rush
your eyes flutter and furrow, repeating
every conversation you wish you could have finished before the phone hung up.
and then silence.
you wake up in bed in sweat and fear
heart races, eyes redden and unrestrained tears
and your lover is holding you in the confusion
and you're unable to process all the confusion
and you are exhausted from the marathon sleep
and you're unable to get back on your own feet
and for a split second you're holding her but it's not her
and for a split second she's telling you she loves you, but it's not her
the adrenaline filters out and the room goes dark again
and no more red.
and no more white hot.
dark. again.
the flood spills out and you can't say a word
not for lack of description;
shame.
for keeping secrets from yourself
---
i've dreamt of her for two weeks straight
and i can't tell my lover
her ears open her mind forgiving
but i can't tell my lover.
the interactions anachronistic
the reactions too kind
she left in peace with a piece
this green mile, the longest mile
the perfect length of rope
the sharpest, dirtiest needles.
the borehole.
cunning knives rest deep
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