Faulty Taps

Dreams surface with filters and edits: mine come out gray scale. I sleep wearing clothes I do not own, with a face I do not own, a face that is not a face at all, but a grayish blur of flesh.

Did I dream it this way? I wonder.

I hold breath in, I remember the leaking, the endless leaking, I shiver. Cold washes over me. Not over me, but under, cold sweeps under my skin and over my bones and I shiver with an uncontrollable urge to laugh, as if I’m being tickled from the inside.

drip. drip. drip.

Insomnia

Some nights, you come real close. So close, you can taste the sleep, you can smell it. It smells like dripping saliva and warm cotton cloth.

In the dead of the night, the clock blinking at 2:43 a.m., you feel like a corpse dragged out from the grave. Immortality forced down a mortal.

You feel wrong.

Monster

I have a darkness within me, and like the shadows streaming from the light, it has tied itself to my soul. We are entwined together, this monster of mine, we are soulmates, in the purest sense of the word.

Cut this chord, and I am as lifeless as a puppet without strings. Cut this chord, and I lose, I am lost.