this is an unaddressed letter.
i could not sleep last night. i could not breathe in the darkness. there are books in my bed in place of you. anne sleeps well tonight. emerson rests on yr pillow. a book of eric white is opened to a page where ganesha stares with his multiple human eyes. there is no sleep for us. there is no sleep for the troubled.
i dreamnt that i was shot in the head x 3 thru the ear. there was no blood but i knew i was going to die. no one would call an ambulance for me. i laid on white sheets and then the blood came, spilling out of my ear, staining everything. they watched me. i pleaded with them, telling them i didn't want to die. after all the times i have wanted to and tried, in this dream i was fighting against the impossible. there was no choice then. in my reflection my face was swollen and i could feel three bullets under my purple skin against my cheek bone.
k wakes me up with his phone call. he tells me he dreamnt he drowned.
on the computer it says the russian hostage situation has ended. there are photos of naked, bloody children in the arms of soilders. there are photos of people lifting up white sheets to identify their lost. there are photos of red roses strewn in the concrete playground. you cannot tell which red is which. red petals, red blood stains.
i am only here to communicate.
xo
a dreamer.
i dreamnt that i was shot in the head x 3 thru the ear. there was no blood but i knew i was going to die. no one would call an ambulance for me. i laid on white sheets and then the blood came, spilling out of my ear, staining everything. they watched me. i pleaded with them, telling them i didn't want to die. after all the times i have wanted to and tried, in this dream i was fighting against the impossible. there was no choice then. in my reflection my face was swollen and i could feel three bullets under my purple skin against my cheek bone.
k wakes me up with his phone call. he tells me he dreamnt he drowned.
on the computer it says the russian hostage situation has ended. there are photos of naked, bloody children in the arms of soilders. there are photos of people lifting up white sheets to identify their lost. there are photos of red roses strewn in the concrete playground. you cannot tell which red is which. red petals, red blood stains.
i am only here to communicate.
xo
a dreamer.