dream #1

I was asleep on the couch, but I wasn't sleeping. My eyes were closed, but I could make out every dim outline and soft shape that hung in the dark. I knew I was seeing all of this for reason. I knew I wasn't alone
Within what was a split second of realization, I felt myself being pulled from the couch by my four limbs. My eyes flung open, and I saw pale hands clutching my wrists and my ankles. It was only two people, a man and a woman this time, and I could see their shoes. I knew instantly who they were, and that I was going to die. They had finally come, and I could already feel the tightness of the dog kennels and the drugs rushing through my veins and the dead men kissing my life away.
I was completely paralyzed. The most I could manage was to roll my head from side to side and move my eyes furiously across the room. I was being dragged now, and I knew the rug was being pulled beneath me because it burned against my spine. I could see the white door moving closer, approaching slow like a mountain. I tried to scream. I had to scream. I could feel it rise up in my throat like gravel, I could hear it choking out in violent gasps, ringing clear in my head but leaving my chest only in rattles. Nothing escaped my mouth. The white paint of the front door illuminated everything, including the woman's face with the clear blue eyes and heart shaped lips, and her striking resemblance to my own reflection, except that she was more beautiful, and much less terrified.
I had to scream. My life depended on this sound, now, the vocal ability I once took for granted, wasting decibels on rock shows and roller coasters, throwing the power of my voice like sand to the wind. I tried to push the air through my ribs, and I pushed until my eyes fell back into my skull. And soon, the sound crawled its way out of my lungs, clawing through my throat, and the silence was cut with a ragged, horror movie scream, exploding through the darkness like shattered glass. I was suddenly able to fling my body upright, gasping for air as if I had just been brought back to life.
Maybe I had been. Now I was restless on the couch again, and I was next to my boyfriend. The room was empty, and the white door stood as motionless as it ever had. He was awake, rubbing my back, breathless. My scream had woke him, and I could tell it had scared him. His hand on my back and the sharp air I was breathing in calmed me, but it was still so dark, I couldn't even feel him beside me. Something wasn't right. I was aware of him, but he was barely visible to me. He might as well have been a ghost. He reached to touch my shoulder, but I flinched and pulled away. I was aware of something else, too.
He asked me what was wrong, if I had had a bad dream. I could hardly even hear him now. I was still trying to come to, my eyes feeling around the darkness for something familiar. He moved to touch me again, but I was already throwing off our blanket and turning to the black. Something wasn't right. The room, it looked different, and nothing in the dark could seem to hold its shape. For the second time, I was overwhelmed with the sensation that I was seeing everything through closed eyelids. He began to speak, but I grabbed his wrist and put my finger to my lips. Something isn't right, my mind repeated. We are not alone. They were out there still, somewhere. Waiting for me to close my eyes again.
"Baby. Come back to bed," His voice was firm now, and I allowed myself to look away from the rest of the room and into his eyes. He was afraid of me, I could tell. I needed to stay calm, but now the couch was facing a different direction, and he hadn't seemed to notice, or at the least, he wasn't at all bothered by it. I turned away from him. He couldn't know.
"Baby, why are we sleeping out here instead of in your bed?" I spoke finally, my voice flat and urgent.
"I don't know. I can't remember. Just come back to bed, baby." His eyes lit up. The white door was burning like a beacon and brought out the green beneath his eyes. Fear began to pour upon me like sheets of rain.
"They're still here." I know that I had said it, but the words were almost inaudible. I felt him stiffen beside me.
"Who's here?" He looked around incredulously, unable to make out anything, and when his eyes met mine, his stare was wary. "Who's here?"
"The ones I left to die." I had to stand, but the muscles between my thighs felt like burned rubber and seemed to melt when I tried to rise. I knew I needed to move, but I was frozen again.
"Baby, there's no one here. It was just a bad dream. Lay with me, I want to keep you safe." I remained sitting and still. I couldn't look away from the white door.
"Then wake me up," I whispered.
He paused, and I could sense his disbelief. "What?" he asked plainly.
"Please..." I reached behind me to feel for his hand, and when I met it, he laced his fingers with mine. "Please, you have to wake me up. You can't save me, like you want to, if I'm asleep. I'll die in this dream."
"Baby, you're awake" his voice sighed with a smile, "and even if you aren't, if you know you're dreaming, you can do anything you want."
"No," I said. "No, it's not that kind of dream." Slowly, the darkness began to move with a pulse, flooding the floor and spreading like tar over everything. It had its own movement, its own breath. His muscles tensed, and I knew that he could finally feel what I felt, and maybe could even see what I saw. When he spoke, I had to strain to hear.
"Then what kind of dream is this?" The darkness was sinister now, leaving a palpable chill hanging between our bodies.
"The kind where they always get back what they've lost."
"And how does it end?" He clasped his fingers tightly around mine, and our knuckles turned white. I pulled my hand away and turned to him. I touched his face and tried not to kiss him.
"I don't know, baby," I shook my head. "I'm usually awake by now."
"So if you wake up, do I stay here?"
"I don't know."
"But if you stay, you die.
"Yes."
"Okay." He kissed me, holding me by my shoulders, and once he pulled away, he began to shake me, telling me that I needed to wake up. My head snapped back and forth on my neck, and my tongue caught between my teeth with a flash of dull pain and a froth of hot, bright blood. The white door was opening, so he shook me faster, and everything spun away, the paint, the dark, his eyes, and soon, a sharpness of light beat against my skull like an epileptic fit.
When I awoke, I was alone, and the sheet was spattered with drops of blood as red as paint. Hia side of the bed was still warm.

buen viaje

The worst part about loving a ghost isn't the fact that you are loving someone who isn't real, or at least, will no longer be real. It isn't that you're tending to something that will never exist, or at least, will no longer exist. The worst part about loving a ghost is having to admit to yourself that you are making a choice--a choice to put your life on hold, a choice to deter your own progress, for the promise of loss, the hope of pain. All for death's sake.

This is the truth we deny, the reality we ignore, the certainty we can't delay. We both know that this will end. We talk about it now like it's a story, something that hasn't taken root because there are months between it all. And for now, the days are going slow. But once the hours begin to breathe down our necks, the days will start to drop like flies. And then the weeks. And before long, there won't be any months left. There will only be a single moment.
The moment you leave.

the truth sucks, and you're probably a terrible person :)

The doctor liked my breaking bad shirt.
You said you felt better because you were with men in business suits
when you were finally alone in the waiting room.
And the movies were bad, but they were inherently good
they made all the girls laugh.

an iv and 98.1
competing for the latest Vogue
issue brings us closer than
the real issue.
An agonizing, brutal wait.
I couldn't see the nurse's face
behind tinted windows, and
patients cant drink the water, ma'am.
A girl who didnt have a ride
was throwing up, but never cried.
My shoes looked stupid with my shorts.
It was so much better being alone.
There was no pressure to act normal
or laugh at any stupid jokes.
Instead I had a McDonald's breakfast
and 1984 responses to my questions.
I very much enjoyed the drugs,
but it wasn't your's, and it wasn't us.
I couldn't hear anything
and this has given me everything
I feel better now, and that's the truth.
There are so many good things that I have left to do.