I woke up broken
heartbeat caught
in the last seconds of a dream
hands slick
life spillin thru my fingers
heat that won’t fade
no sound
only the dark leanin in
black bodies without skin
faces scraped from charcoal
gleamin thin white teeth
scattered in mouths too wide
perchin above the bed
against the walls
bendin where ceilin meets door
I don’t breathe
don’t blink
hopin if I stay still
they’ll think I’m still asleep
but they press in closer
a low hum rattlin in my ears
in a foreign whisper
a drag of breaths
that i understand fluently
I slide out slow
tryin to avoid their touch
bare feet against the cold
each hurried step a prayer
to any of the gods
willin to listen to cowards
I keep my eyes forward
as the night air fills my lungs
inhale of chlorine and damp concrete
hopin the pool light
will offer some form of protection
even as the water flickers black
I light a joint
with tremblin hands
let the smoke fill my chest
hopin it’ll push them back
but they follow
whispers spillin thru the dark
twistin into words under my skull
and all I can do is wait
and pretend the smoke is enough
to keep me grounded
pretend the heat of that dream
isn’t still crawlin on my hands
pretend my heartbeat
isn’t a frantic metronome
that betrays me
all I can do is wait
while they keep leanin in
closer
as if smoke and patience
could drag the sky toward me
and pry loose the first crack of dawn
This feels like a night mare while you were awake
Asleep but dreaming of being awake and trying to escape torturous thoughts.
They do find us one way or another. We can smoke our joint to space out and away from what’s closing in, but can we
escape it? I don’t know.
I really like the dialect used here…you do that so well and it fits perfectly with the theme.
j.
Hauntingly penned, Ambjr. Great storytelling and powerful imagery my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Didn’t want too read this through but – of course I did. Your voice was loud and clear whether muttering as you tossed and turned or, were yelling deep down in living hell or – maybe a barbaric battle zone. Or could be the three : a sadistic unholy trinity. Have a feeling that this will linger through my day in great bursts of plasma shooting its way down and down to.. wherever. All too visual -but readers will have his/her own reaction. Cn think of paintings by.. is it Breugel? There’s another.. no matter, your words are more than visual.
appreciate you stickin with it and readin it thru. hmm which Bruegel paintin? interestin. I appreciate it.