I used to have this dream about white umbrellas with red dots and red umbrellas with white dots, and there was a beach with nice sand-- the soft kind that doesn’t feel scratchy on bare thighs.
Maybe a blue woven blanket and a transit radio with rusted edges. But there were never any people.
Except for me.
I was there walking along the too soft sand- barefoot and jubilant.
The waves crashed horizontally- you could see them, but came quickly to the realization that you would never feel them- they only traveled left and right.
And the sun and clouds and very much blue sky would be extremely beautiful-- until a sort of smoke like thought would enter your head. The thought
none of this is real.



I used to have a lot of dreams. But now I’m not so sure when I dream- when exactly I stop dreaming.
It’s like someone pushed a pause button on my ability to sense reality as it is.
It’s a terrible tribulation to attempt to hold focus- my head is a daydream.
Like I'm living in an upside down daydream where nothing is real, yet my actions do in fact have consequences.
Like I am nothing more than a person made up by another mind sent to play poker on the 50" flat screen you just had to buy.
My head is attached to my body but my mind is not. And this body-- my body- is not actually so.



Every memory is disfigured and foggy and seems to make no real connection.
Who am I?
I don’t know and I don’t think I’ll ever know again.
It’s too complex a thought.
Am I saying I like something because I like it- do I truly enjoy it?
Or am I just saying so-
I mean, what do I really like?
Who is this person behind my eyes?
I’m not sure anymore.

I sat watching out the window.
Like a child on a rainy day.
Waiting for the storm
To give the sun back.
As if it had been stolen
From the sky

I'm no beauty queen
and I chopped off my hair to make sure
everyone knew that.
The ash from the tip of my burning cigarette
is the same dark, grey color of my lungs-
and I like it that way.
There's a hole in my black tights but
I wear them with my red dress anyway.
I'll slap on some lipstick and take a few pills to
fall back down the rabbit hole.
The best part is
I won't remember why my
two dollar mascara ran down my face.
So I won't regret a single thing.

He had a face designed for happiness
But he was blue
From all the life the cold world stole
From his body
His eyes once bright
Hang like the do not disturb sign
On the worn motel room door
His smile once animate
Is nothing but a fine line
Like the edge between regret
and suffering
Yet something about him clutched attention
Like the vacancy sign
Flashing off the exit of the interstate
I tried to keep driving
But I felt propelled
As if I was the guest of honor
Attending his invite only
Party for two


-JustHayy

funny how
your words
to her
once belonged
to me
same empty
story
same bleak
captivity

-JustHayy