Nightmares linger, it is a fact,
clinging to memory like an acrid disease.
When I was younger, I dreamt I saw a witch in
a local church, now whenever I pass this church,
I am stabbed with the feeling of total fear and
isolation, just for a split moment though.
Like when a mother loses her child in the dairy aisle,
only to find him almost immediately
– a brief sense of horror.

In a sick and perhaps perverse way, I long for this feeling
of total fear, yet wish to rid myself of it at the same time.
Teetering on the edge of a knife, wanting to touch death,
but not allowing it to touch me.
Wanting to squeeze blood from the tormented tears of my youth,
whilst wanting to smother my childish screams once and
for all.

Perhaps one day I shall enter the church,
though I very much doubt it,
for I'd be disappointed to see no witch there,
grimacing at me, like she did that one
dark, lonely and vulnerable night.

All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies always have drawn flies

I have seen nothing
and I am even less
I have been here my whole life
Redundancy has a comfort to it
sometimes

But I have dreams
about climbing redwood forests
higher than any skyscraper
that have faces etched into their trunks
and dreams
of mushroom houses with neon skies
and being kidnapped by wolves and we howl and howl
Sometimes I even have lucid dreams of flying
walking through walls
and time travel
I have dreams of being a hero and saving the world
and there's a recurring one about falling in love with
a man I do not even recognize yet

So hopefully you can excuse me
for not always being ecstatic
when I wake up in the mornings
and find myself in a human bed

get out of those pj's
and into some jeans
altho i obey
i
dont know what that means
my life does unravel
undone at the seams
i prefer life by night
under moon beams

Let’s pour a little salt,
flavor the Earth,
so She’s the only one to remember
that we were ever here.

2. I painted Care and Sympathy’s portraits,
and (falsely) titled it Love.
And you hung it on your wall to remind yourself
you weren’t entirely alone.
But I’m sure you’ve taken it down by now
and it’s sitting in a corner, under the white sheet of time.

3. And if I faced death today,
I would like to think
I could face him without flinching.
As long as he would strike quickly, in the head or the heart.
I shouldn’t mind at all.

4. He called me tiny dancer
even though I couldn’t dance.
At least not very well.
He still insisted on waltzing
in my parent’s kitchen
despite my stepping on his toes.