Have you ever woken up inside a flashback?
Do you know how it feels to be pushed down into your own body after years of being pulled apart?

I awoke many times in a haze,
wondering what year it was;
months ago I finally came to and I thought I was trapped in 2014
and instead of waking to go to school,
like I was so convinced of,
I went to work and went through the motions of something I somehow knew all too well.

How did I go so many years in this separation of self?
I awoke to all of this abundance and responsibility I don't remember creating.
I could have cried out screams of mercy
for whatever stole all these years
to give them back.

I typed away at my computer,
but it all felt so foreign.
I was supposed to be in high school;
I'm supposed to be myself.

I've awoken many times in absolute fear,
not even sure who I am,
where I am,
what time period I'm in.
It's terrifying and I'm so tired of being ripped apart from reality like this.

Have you ever been consumed by a flashback?
Hurled and spit out by the jaws of the past
and regurgitated into the present?
I've never understood why it has to keep happening.

I am tired of living in waking memory;
I want this tortuous cycle to end.

Was I ever really his favorite?
From the words, he spilled,
I would have been inclined to believe it,
but his actions say otherwise.

Was I ever anyone's favorite?
I've been chronically revered but overlooked at the same time.
They spoke so highly of me, for someone so apt to abandon at a moment's notice.

I couldn't imagine him willing to take the time to get to know me,
and yet I expended my energy to know him;
it's funny,
to think I vowed my love to someone so distant.

I have never been the favorite,
I have always been the connecting piece from one person to another,
leading them to each other like a sheep dog with its flock;
I have always been alone,
One way or another.

In the early hours of the morning,
you asked me to marry you;
I pushed it off, taking it as a joke,
but you leapt up from our bed anyway,
and I protested, saying there were no rings in sight,
and yet, you wrapped paper, so delicately, into a ring for me.

From the dim-lit room,
I saw you kneel on one knee to ask me.
I swore you were mocking me,
but you persisted that we elope,
and even then I couldn't take you at your word.

Did you really love me like that?
And if so, why did you leave?

Sometimes I think I see it in your eyes;
you want to devour me,
to have me, solely,
all to yourself.

Do you see it in my eyes too?
That I would give myself so willingly to you,
that you could have me at your feet in a single, sharp snap of your fingers.

Pulled into a trance like that,
I'd almost say 'yes'
each time we lock eyes.
I could relinquish myself to follow every suggestion that flows from your soft lips,
but would you believe that?

From week in to week out,
the cracks in foundation do form,
and the ceiling begins to leak;
should those in the castle's embrace choose to evacuate?

The lovers huddle in the stillness of their room and contemplate their position,
but something crumbling so quickly needs an equally quick decision.

Dare they take a break and flee from the impending ruin?
And what does it say about them if the structure of their loving home won't support them?

And if the lovers falter
from the tower to the uneasiness below,
will there be enough arms to catch them both?

"God, I really wish she talked like you,
dressed like you;
how do I get her to think like you do?"

Policing her to be like me will never serve you
because the one who does me best, is me.
Be truthful with yourself,
when you ask her to behave like this,
do you dream of me?

You cannot easily transpose my image onto your lover,
because no one else loves like me,
talks like me,
dresses like me,
can transfix in your mind like me.

Do you love her like you love me?
Does she know the blueprint you use to mold her from?
Could she handle knowing what I know?