Two-hundred and Forty-Eight: i gave up

i can’t count sheep to help me sleep anymore.
they jump over stiles in my mind, screaming, so red
hot in their dresses, they don’t even remember to swear.
i need to dream in vegetarian these days but every now and then,

a wolf strolls in, or maybe a stray dog -dirty, aggressive.
they hunt me. i lock myself in ragged houses. trapped.
it is always dark in my dreams. twilight dark. hazy. violet.
you can’t touch anything in my dreams. it’s all ghosts.

except for one moment.

i don’t remember the candle (the sperm of the tragedy).
i don’t remember the eyes rounded and frozen in terror.
i don’t remember the screeching: get it off me! get it off me!

all i keep coming back to is the moment when i closed my eyes.
the moment i stood still and waited. the moment i stopped, because

i gave up.

in that moment, i gave up.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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