Acid Dreams

Sometimes it’s about being left behind, by a bus that leaves for a field trip, or by the only plane that can take you home.

Sometimes it’s a crowd in a football stadium, frowning and pointing at you as you stand naked on the field.

Sometimes it’s about an accident, driving blindly in the dark, and running over a woman crossing the street.

Sometimes it’s everybody recognizing your face, knowing you’re the person who ran over the war hero, and mother of six.

Sometimes it’s a family reunion, relatives asking if you’re proud of yourself, eyes filling every inch of your vision.

Sometimes it’s the immortal woman in red, chasing you with a sinister smile and a long knife in her hand.

Sometimes it’s just yourself, floating in a cold and empty ocean. Screaming with no voice, breathing with no air.

You wake up at the ungodly hour, your stomach churning, your mind returning. It’s just another night. What a sad thing to get used to.

You try to go back to sleep, but you shuffle until the night is gone, and you wonder when you will ever feel safe again in the arms of a sweet surrender.

Unkindled

For all I know, you could be waiting for me, to make the first move, and meet you at the scene. To sit, exchange wit, and sip wine in between bouts of laughter. My hand wanders from the fork to your fingers, and put you under the scrutiny of my gaze. I love the way you pull away and cross your arms. And I love the way you surrender them when I ask you to give them back. My skin, my lips, my surplus of things, they await your call at the end of the receiver. But after all this time, you still haven’t said it, and the words I dream, unspoken in my head. Locked away in wild imaginings, my desire, a spark thrown in wet kindlings. Unable to catch fire, the light is but a flash, momentary and swiftly gone. A photograph kept in a box of made up histories, and not for long, it too will be forgotten, along with all the memories of what could have been.