#dreamimagery
My breath, light as feather, words like dust—find it best
not to speak too much, lest I seem soft as a feather duster.
Dreams of a perfect body, shadowed by many premonitions,
permissions granted only by the mountains where I took life
by the heel—miswriting heal, and climbing that endless hill
toward closure.
I saw a fish in a teardrop, a sad smile crossing its face; and it
weighed the world on its scales. The river’s currents glistened
with depression— so I pushed upstream, crying a mountain’s
worth of water.
I fought not to wash myself away, lying beneath it all, while
an angel kissed my twisted hair; locked my thoughts in place.
Perfectly ready to die, dancing to a song of reoccurring suicide,
a melody only I could hear. Must entail the full act of dying,
feel the strings beneath your fingers— chords played in secret,
as if David himself taught me the strum. To be an instrument
to a horn, to hone your skills, to feel like a big man someday.
Think of this the next time someone says, “Yeah, I’m okay.”
So much hidden, beneath that quiet syllable, an entire ocean
of grief swallowed in one breath.
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 2:37 PM UTC
_Opening line_ —
Walking from a dream to death,
Waking from death to a dream —
The dream that stole my last breath:
Sleep and life stitched by the same seam.
I am not a beard, yet so much
Of living has been taken by the chin;
Dragged through seasons shaping me,
trimming me down by force than by vision.
Trying to step ahead of everything —
I am a shoebox tied with old string,
Wrapped in a cloudy sheet of memories.
Yesterday's tears gather like unpaid debts,
When even the smallest step feels so _stiff_.
Breath is the essence of life,
But our breath is always leaving us;
Know we’re only guests in these bodies,
Passing through the hours as the hours do
Their grieving — and every inhale reminds
Us that its last exhale is already pre-planned.
And so, waking from death to a dream,
I breathe knowing each breath is a door
Quietly closing behind me — I keep walking,
Pushing forward, opening the next door
Even as the last one fades. _Closing line._
Nov 27, 2025
Nov 27, 2025 at 2:42 AM UTC