i.
But in a dream, my eyes were bleeding into cups, into my mouth; gushing. My father told me- "the ***** is wearing off," so he called the doctor. Doctor prescribed pills. Two in the morning. Two in the night.  

Diagnosed with a tick under my eyelid, it was ******* my sight: this is why I lack foresight.

But two days later, the bleeding began again. It was mixed with water, now, a hydrating blood running out of my nose, into my mouth. Choking on inward screams, "tell me." tell me. tell me, then, what else could be wrong?

ii.
Unknown questions, for they were never asked. It  took all the day to realize the rain. The rain was hitting the tree’s cheeks in the face and I bite my tongue, brushed my teeth, going on and about until in the kitchen, I look up and realize the rain. It runs in the gutter.

iii.
Somewhere else: a papa in the front row looks down at his baby girl, shows her how to perform the cross. How do you suffer? Oh, so sweetly.

iv.
Without vision, I have you kept behind my eyelids, in a hallway with
your head pressed against the paper wall. Between walls, there exists a moment when the world isn’t what you think it is. You told me you wrote a note that I never knew of until now. There are many things I never knew of: you until you, time as something other than a line,  
and right now.  I meet you between walls and that’s enough.