ronniek

'Tis a frightful dream, this web of ours. Corner to corner, post to post, nothing ever seems to play the way it ought to in our heads. I wonder why, why I cry at things like goodbye from people I don't know, who I've always wished would go. And there's three where two would do, I find myself longing for you, some you I talk to in my slumber saying somethings where my nothings lumbered just the other day. Faces are for daylight hours so we, mask'd, entwine our fingers thus and learn the secrets of one another's scars. Pitted, jagged albums of yesteryear silent screamings of the things we fear. You, she, whispers of tomorrow and sorrow rises with the sun. Awak'd, alone, sweating me and everywhere is dark that I can see. Behind my eyelids somewhere still lies like vinegar somehow distilled leak out in bursts, polaroid pelts of the worst. Her tiny palms cover my lips and I struggle against her hips. 'Tis not lust I dream about, I'm drowning 'neath a water spout of tears I made her cry. Plastic carriage carries me to other scenes. She is there with knotted hair standing o'er a baby dead in rivers of red. My arm aches with bloodied wrench hanging loose and covered in the stench of aborted mistakes. Chew soft, sweet dumpling, 'til I wake. Rise, rise, rise and shine. Wash off this nocturnal brine.

Weep not, gentle girl of stranger nights. You bid goodbye, but I this eve will you afright.