Every night I wake from the same nightmare
Screaming ****** ******, flames echoing across the room.
Blink and I’m an infant, a 6 month-old cavity
In a crib crying rivulets of blood,
Drowning; sweat gushing in from all sides, boxed in like the pile of
ashes I still hallucinate about sometimes
(Would you rather burn or drown?)
Dean always chose to drown.
And in that twisted way he was his own man,
Always sky blue over jet black, but me; I
deserve to burn.
I guess it runs in the family.
Charred black: that’s my destiny. Hooked on IVs of
Liquid coal, onyx adorning my veins. In this (under)world
I
am
King.
My throne is carved out of fallen stars that
Couldn’t put themselves back together again. I sit on
Lipstick-stained skulls
(They have names, names that ring in the hollow of my
Heart, names that whisper;
Counting down the hands I’ve let loose, let go)
Its a tightrope of insanity that I’m tiptoeing on; teetering on the frayed
Edges between darkness and
Light
I cannot tell where I begin, where I end,
(is this all but a figment of my imagination?)
For Mom, Jess, Dean.
Dean
They are the cobwebs that still linger between my muddled mind,
Tethering me to a world of lies;
A world that has no place for a boy with a blinding smile and nightshade lips,
A boy who once dreamt of a love so good so pure
–but that was before–
Before I dug out the demons I’d thought I’d buried six feet under
the fireworks of that night on the 4th of July,
do you remember?
But that was the rose of my previous life,
Now all that are left
Are the thorns.