dream

it is much too evil
to write
i beg my hand to stop
i don't want to relive it
but it is irrelevant
my feelings are irrelevant

a victorian house
crammed to the brim
with victorian values
catholicism burns my fingertips
as i trace the wallpaper and
scurry across the floor
i try to go unnoticed
deeply wishing they will
not care that i never pray
to Him.
they do.
they are angered.
so angered.
i am forced into eternal darkness
it's cold
and dark
and i am almost sure
someone is watching me

sunlight
i'm outside
placing the pieces of
someones life back together
they fit perfectly
mine are jagged
misshaped
i have no choice
but to listen
you're wrong.

a disconnected phone call
with earth shattering news
he is dead.
no.
dying.
cannot be seen, only heard.
unwilling.
clinging.
hanging by a small
flexible, wavering
thread.

we listen
to the pleas.
to the promises.
to the unborn children
who have already secured a place in his heart

wake up.


(i'm actually a pretty cheery person...i promise)

(my dreams are just dark and deep and vibrant)

(i cannot help it)

(even if i could, would i change?)

no.


sweet dreams