i don't want a revolution.
In my dream.
With the rotting wood and my broken locket, outside of the basement bathroom window, i was hiding the matches and cursive letters that i once gripped comfortably in my hands. then in a sudden swoop i found my head in an old linen pillowcase. the linen was smelling of french liquor and the sweat of some old 20th century suffergets. and even with every question stream lining, i go along. though not as a victim but as who i really am, the charlatan girl. my body was not dragging as you would expect for my captor picked me up in their arms, confessing, "i didn't want this to be a misstep, and your underclothes tearing would be the start". with the case off my head i found myself on a famaliar street. his face was so clear and shining, the air felt as if it was dissolving and a lightly tapping lightening bolt went down my spine. i started shivering out of my soul. at my quick intake of air he told me the truth and gave me his own written confessional. i lost my step as i tried to run and looking down to see my trip there were only calenders under my feet. in an instant undefined by time i broke to my knees. at this point it started to rain, and i didn't care who i thought i really was or if my clothes had torn when he took me away. i read the disclosure reconstructing the words after every time my eyes were blurred. he went down to my level and lifted my chin, looked me in the eyes and told me, "you will come alive past that rotting wood and broken locket you try to bury things with, you will grow in good nature farther then the the cotton fields your grandfather lived his life on. i'm sorry that you have to live this life here now, sooner then you think your days will be spent with me"and with the right amount of anger, enough understanding, and no kind of force i fell asleep with his hand against my face.
and i woke up earlier then i should.
i don't think it made a lot of sense.