All I can remember about my dream last night at the moment is I got stabbed. And I was shocked at how I didn’t feel anything at all. So I just pulled the knife back out, and cut off the persons head who attacked me.
I pace back and forth
looking for an expatiation.
I’m leaving. But why.
It’s something I’m demanding.
Take it tall, take it sad,
make a smile, pretend you’re glad.
I need some time.
Some time to think.
No not think. Not think.
Not thinking is the thing to do.
With a hiss and a bang the tire blew.
With a whisper and a wave,
you came by that day.
After what you’ve done you rub it in.
How dare you used to claim the name “Friend,”
"Lover," "Donor," a person of light.
An image you couldn’t seem to hold tight.
It feel in the mud and you pleaded with the gods.
They offered you a different rod.
But you refused and cried, demanding it clean.
You learned to look past what was clearly obscene.
Your lies became believed by even yourself.
While I’m sitting here, a finished book on a shelf.
- struggling with your mental or physical health
- going to therapy
- not knowing what you want to do with your life
- your weight, height, or anything along those lines
- your sexual orientation
- the things that make you unique